Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS: City of the King
by Skitty-Kat
Summary: Secret Agent Greenleaf is back, and this time he's off to Minas Tirith in the company of Aragorn. The City needs his help, but will the people accept it?
1. The New Mission

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

VVVVVVVVV

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: Welcome back! Finally (after over a year), the next fic in my Agent of MESS series is complete. For those who haven't read the earlier ones, this is based in an elseworlds setting, where Legolas Greenleaf is a James Bond-style secret agent, working for the Middle Earth Secret Service (MESS), an organisation headed by G, or Galadriel as she's known. It should be fairly easy to work out what's going on without reading the previous (unless you want to, please), though it may be worth taking a glance at the two chapter "Kill Me Tomorrow" to meet some of the new characters.

A brief acknowledgement is due to Artenis Ancalime, who emailed me to ask where this was. It reminded me that it was all sitting ready to post except the last chapter, which is very nearly done. I have a peculiar horror of leaving fics unfinished (I know I have a couple up, but not recent ones) and I feel it would have been unfair to start it and leave you hanging. My apologies for the wait. I blame starting at uni (yes, two years ago) and all the resultant hard work.

But here it is. Feedback works, people!

Thank you for even reading this far, and I hope you want to keep reading. Feedback is always welcomed. Enjoy!

VVVVVVVVV

Chapter 1.

G's office, high up in the mallorn trees of Lothlórien, was simple yet functional. There were high arched openings, windows without glass, but that could be curtained for privacy. Its height among the trees gave it isolation from the dwellings of Lórien, the only room near being the attached secretary's office, which was currently empty.

G herself was seated at her desk. On the wooden desktop between her hands was a silver bowl filled with water. She gazed at it calmly, watching the patterns that flashed across its surface. Stars and places, creatures and faces, all flickered past as she scanned the MIRROR bands, looking for a certain destination. Her eyes, blue and detached enough to be called cold, saw each one. Outside, birds sang and flew among the trees. Inside, there was silence, until G spoke.

"Lórien calling Imladris." Her voice was as beautiful as she was, though it carried the weight of age and wisdom. "Lórien calling Imladris."

The water cleared to show the interior of a room. A face appeared, framed by dark hair that dangled towards the MIRROR.. The figure gave an impatient sound and tucked it back behind his ears.

"Imladris here," he said. "Hearing you loud and clear, G. I trust you are well."

"Of course. And yourself, E."

The technology of the MIRROR (Message Intercom Receiver, Regardless Of Range) was still developing. It could be used in conjunction with the palantíri, the seeing stones, to keep agents in contact all over Middle-earth. Unfortunately, methods had been devised by enemies of tapping into the conversations. U, the old wizard, and his team worked on combating this problem, but so far the system was not foolproof. As a result, any conversation had to be careful. Even speaking in Elvish was no disguise when the enemy knew the language.

"How is my agent?" asked G.

"Fully recovered," replied E (better known as Lord Elrond), "though we had some worrying times. It was a fast-acting poison and it got a long way into his system before we could counter it. He was unconscious for a week and was very weak when he awoke. But you know him, he's been determined to get back to full strength."

"I should hope so," said G, "it was his mistake to let her get him like that."

Elrond said nothing to that. G's opinion did not quite match his, but he wasn't about to contradict her. He was too sensible for that at least. G was very strong-minded when it came to her agents, particularly this one.

"He's fit to travel back anytime you want," he said.

"Actually, I don't think that is necessary. I have another job for him."

Elrond waited for her to continue. He knew she would, and she didn't disappoint.

"There are problems in the South. The White City grows steadily darker. It would seem that a king would be a solution."

"Would it?" questioned Elrond. "Kings can't quite do everything that people think they can."

"They can try. Besides, don't people always think that it would be better with a King? That's half of it. If they think they are better led then they will behave like it. A King is tradition, it had permanence. A Steward sounds like a stopgap, a temporary leader. The city has been too long without a King."

"Who are we to interfere?" asked Elrond. "These are the affairs of men, not Elves."

"They need a King," said G, "you know of whom I speak."

"But would he?"

"If he knows what is right for his people. It is his birthright, his destiny if you will. He must."

"And your agent?"

"He will go along too. Estel will need help."

"I'm afraid the Dwarf has returned to Erebor on some business."

"He will not be required. Two is all that is necessary. They will, I am sure, find help within the city. My agent has been there before."

"Surely the situation has improved since the enemy's defeat."

"The Steward, it seems, does not believe that the enemy was defeated. He has become paranoid. Such can be the weakness of men, though not all." G steepled her hands before her. "That is why we must involve ourselves. The City is hurting."

"What would be the overall plan?"

"For Estel to retake the throne. The essential details we shall have to leave to them. It is impossible to plan exactly without being on the spot. I'm sure we can trust them."

"Very well. I shall brief them forthwith on the subject."

"Good. Tell Legolas...well," G smiled, "tell him to be careful."

"I will. Imladris out." Elrond's face vanished from the water.

G sighed and sat back. The bowl before her now contained only water, clear and unremarkable. Golden sunlight flickered through the trees, patterning the room with an effect no wallpaper could have achieved. It was a room that had seen the beginning of many things, and often the ends as well. Reports came here about almost everything. Decisions were made on almost everything. A decision had just been made, on events occurring far away. It was the nature of the place.

G's eyes fell on a paperweight that sat atop some papers on her desk. Inside the glass was a single green leaf, sealed away from all harm forever. G ran a finger over the smooth surface.

I wish I could keep you like this, Legolas, she thought. Sealed away and safe. I have had bad premonitions of this mission.

If he had been there he would have been laughing at her, scoffing at her worries. But he wasn't, so she allowed herself this brief fear.

VVVVVVVVV

Two riders clothed in grey followed a path down the Western side on the Misty Mountains. One rode a dark horse while the other rode a light horse bareback, and they both kept pace easily with each other. The rider in the lead, an Elf, turned back to the man who was his companion. He was grinning a daredevil grin.

"Race you to that tree," he challenged, eyes gleaming.

The man answered with a nudge to his horse's flank, urging him on. The Elf laughed and raced away, waving a hand cheerily as he did. The man grinned too, racing after him. Finally, with much laughter, they reached the tree and tore past it, the Elf just in the lead.

"Legolas!" called the man. "You cheated, I'm sure. You were ahead of me when you started!"

Greenleaf patted his horse's neck. "No," he protested, "Arod is just a good horse."

Aragorn mock-scowled as they slowed their horses. "Hasufel is just as fine a horse."

"Oh, then it must be the rider," teased Greenleaf. "Never mind. You will improve someday, my friend."

"Patronising Elf," Aragorn shot across.

"Substandard man," Greenleaf shot back.

It was friendly banter, a common feature of their friendship. Greenleaf stretched his arms out to the sides, delighting in the sunlight.

"I'm so glad to be out again," he sighed, "it's a lot better than being cooped up in Rivendell, I can tell you."

"You have been very ill," put in Aragorn, "what with being poisoned and all that."

"I've been well enough to be out for ages, but Lord Elrond just wouldn't let me."

"Of course, Legolas, of course. If that's what you say."

"You're asking for a slap," warned Greenleaf. "Anyway, I'm glad to be out on a job again."

"Hmm." Aragorn's reply was non-committal.

Greenleaf looked across at him sharply. "You're not happy about it, are you?"

Aragorn looked suddenly tense. "Not so much," he said, "I mean, no one actually asked me if I wanted to do this or anything. Everyone's just assumed I want to."

"You just don't want to be King," stated Greenleaf. It wasn't quite a question.

Aragorn shrugged. "No, not really."

"Or is it just that you're annoyed at not being asked?"

That point hit home. Aragorn stiffened and glared across at Greenleaf.

"So that's it," said Greenleaf. "Would you feel better about it if you'd been given the choice, even if you'd chosen this in the end?"

"I suppose so." Aragorn sighed. "It's just that...oh, everything's been planned out for me. I couldn't choose what I wanted to do when I grew up, not really. There's always been a future for me, no matter what I do in the meantime. It's not going to make any difference if I become fat and corpulent, because I'm going to be King."

Greenleaf stayed quiet, listening. Aragorn's words were practically spilling out. It was obviously a feeling he had had for some time, and events now had brought it to a head.

"I sometimes get the feeling that Lord Elrond only had me at Rivendell because of that, because he wanted to keep an eye on me. If I'd only been an ordinary person then what would have happened to me?"

"You would still be you," said Greenleaf, reaching across to touch his friend's shoulder, "nothing can change that. And do you really think that Lord Elrond would have refused you sanctuary? Not when you were such a cute itty-bitty little man-child, or so the twins assure me."

"But you've always been able to choose what you do," argued Aragorn, "you don't have a legacy to follow, a destiny you can't escape."

"Provided my father has no unfortunate accidents, that is," said Greenleaf, raising an eyebrow, "or had you forgotten that? Should he die or decide to sail West then I would be duty bound to return to Mirkwood."

"You've chosen to be an agent though," said Aragorn, a little petulant.

Greenleaf grinned slowly. "Against my father's rather forcibly expressed wishes. He hates it completely. He'd much rather I was home in Mirkwood, playing the dutiful son under his very watchful paternal eye. He'd rather have me married off to some suitable maiden, obedient to all his whims. Anyway, you're an agent too."

"It'd be a bit hard to be an agent and a king."

"Stop being such a misery," ordered Greenleaf.

"I'm allowed to be. I don't get chance to sulk that often."

Greenleaf laughed. "You can spend time sulking when it's all said and done. You're not on the throne yet. We have much work to do first."

"Lord Elrond told me I should do it "for my people"." Aragorn pulled a face. "I don't see why. I don't know any of them. It has been some time since I was in Minas Tirith."

"Wait until you meet some of them," said Greenleaf, "you'll see. You might even like some of them." He smiled wickedly. "Miracles may happen."

"Are you making fun of me?" asked Aragorn.

"Only a little," replied Greenleaf, "besides, you need it every now and then. Keeps you humble."

"Huh. Snooty Elf."

They passed the remains of Isengard on their way. The tall rock-like tower still stood in its encircling wall, surrounded by a shallow lake, part of the River Isen. Empty now, it had none of the menace it had carried earlier, when it had been inhabited by Saruman and his army of Uruk-hai. Greenleaf smirked as he looked across.

"It looks quite charming now, doesn't it?" he said.

"Much more cheerful than it used to," agreed Aragorn, "rather scenic even."

They rode on through the Fords of Isen, the water splashing up round their horse's legs. The sun had gone behind clouds, though it stayed quite warm. They followed their path through the Westfold, riding over the great grassy plains of Rohan. Suddenly, Greenleaf's sharp eyes caught sight of something before them.

"There are riders approaching."

"Friendly ones?" asked Aragorn. He squinted ahead and fancied that he could just see dust rising.

"Maybe." Greenleaf continued to watch as they drew closer. Suddenly he smiled. "It's Éomer and his riders!"

It did not take long for the company of riders to reach them. With a thunder of galloping hooves they came to a halt before the pair of travellers. Éomer, the very tall young man who rode in front, removed his high-plumed helmet as he recognised the riders.

"Legolas!" he greeted the Elf. "I have not seen you since you visited with that Dwarf friend of yours."

"Nor I you, surprisingly," responded Greenleaf, with a hint of sarcasm, "and Gimli is quite well, thank you for asking." Gimli and Éomer had not got on too well when they met, to Greenleaf's amusement.

"And Aragorn," Éomer went on unabashed, "it is good to see you again."

"And you, Éomer," said Aragorn, nodding at the man.

"Where are you heading?" asked Éomer. "It is already Autumn, the leaves are beginning to fall."

"On a brief holiday," answered Greenleaf.

"Really," said Éomer, looking sceptical. "Where is there to the East?"

"I'm told Minas Tirith is quite charming," said Greenleaf. It wouldn't hurt to tell him that, he decided.

"I won't ask," said Éomer, "I know you too well. At least, well enough. I hear there's a bit of a situation over that way. You'd better be careful."

"With him around?" said Aragorn, indicating Greenleaf with a wave of his hand. "I'll be lucky if we get by with being merely a bit reckless."

"Thank you so much," said Greenleaf, "though you have to admit, I get results."

"Blind luck," said Aragorn, though he muttered it very quietly. Greenleaf ignored him.

Éomer turned to his riders. "Carry on," he ordered them, "I shall catch you up directly."

Obediently, the riders spurred their horses and rode on, many acknowledging Greenleaf and Aragorn with a nod, recognising them from their previous sojourn in Rohan. Soon, the group of riders was some distance away.

"If you need any help," said Éomer, "I'll be happy to be of assistance. I expect you'll be in touch with Gandalf, and he can get in touch with me."

"Thank you," said Greenleaf, a little surprised. "I hope we don't have to take you up on it."

"So do I, but don't be afraid to." Éomer replaced his helmet over his long yellow hair. "And now I must take my leave. Farewell!" He rode off after his riders, his horse's hooves pounding the ground. He was quickly lost to distance.

Aragorn turned to Greenleaf as they rode on. "I didn't know that U was in contact with the Rohirrim."

"He's got people everywhere, it seems," answered Greenleaf, "but this contact must have been made since we were here. How else do you think he always knows what's going on?"

"I never really thought about it," admitted Aragorn. "Does he have anyone in Minas Tirith?"

"Not anymore apparently. He muttered something about a mysterious disappearance."

"That's a good premonition then," said Aragorn, irony heavy in his voice. "What are the chances of that happening to us?"

"Quite high, I expect," said Greenleaf unworriedly.

In the end it took them some days to reach Minas Tirith from their start in Rivendell. Arod and Hasufel were both fine horses, of Rohan stock, but they were tired when they reached journey's end. As they reached the top of a rise Greenleaf and Aragorn finally saw the great city of Minas Tirith before them. Stopping, they took in the sight. The city, designed of seven concentric circles, was a great white structure, a testament to the architecture of men.

"We'll have to wait until nightfall," said Greenleaf.

"What, here?" asked Aragorn.

Greenleaf looked around. "Over by those trees there looks like a good spot," he said.

"I should have guessed," grumbled Aragorn, "predictable Wood-Elves."

"There's nothing wrong with trees," sniffed Greenleaf as they headed over.

They dismounted and let the horses graze while they sat at the base of one tree. Greenleaf pulled some lembasbread out of his pack and passed some to Aragorn. They ate in silence for a while, watching the cloud-obscured sun crawl slowly across the sky, ever so slowly.

"What's our first move when we get in?" asked Aragorn eventually.

"Our best bet would be to find the guard captain I met with last time I was here," replied Greenleaf, "Captain Welch. He seemed to be quite up with what was going on."

"Contacting a member of the authorities? Sounds like a sure-fire way to get caught to me."

"Welch is a little different. Rather independent, I'd say."

"Well, I hope you're right."

"Aren't I always?" asked Greenleaf. He grinned, leaning back against the tree. "Don't bother to answer that."

Aragorn didn't, and they sat fairly comfortably, waiting for dark. It wouldn't be long, and then they could properly begin their mission.


	2. Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: The City Guard -Captain Welch and his men- were introduced in my Agent of MESS short story _Kill Me Tomorrow_. It's probably worth reading it just to meet the characters, if you haven't already. It's only two chapters. Go on, you know you want to. Any similarities between them and Dad's Army, or Terry Pratchett's Night Watch are intentional and intended as some sort of homage. Welch was actually named after an old music teacher, and is pronounced "Welsh", like the people from Wales (the good old leek-fanciers).

My apologies for making you all (well, all one of you) wait for this. Credit goes to Artanis Ancalime for poking me and making me get up off my arse to post this. And I finally went to see Casino Royale last night. Now that's what I call Bond!

Chapter 2. _Quis Custodiet Ipsos Custodes_

Nightfall came and brought with it a covering cloak of darkness. Cloud obscured the stars, and even the moon only put in an occasional appearance. Greenleaf and Aragorn crept along the city wall, careful to stay unseen by the city guards who were posted at the top. Greenleaf didn't expect there to be too much vigilance on their part. He knew that guards got bored standing in the same place for hours on end, and how their attention could easily wander. Though not as easily as Elves, men could still fall asleep, or at least slip into a doze while standing on their feet.

"So," whispered Aragorn, as he followed Greenleaf, "what are we looking for exactly?"

"The back gate," replied Greenleaf, "there's bound to be one."

"How did you get in last time?"

"I walked in the main gate. They didn't keep it locked up then, and the guards were quite dozy. It seems to have changed somewhat."

They had left the horses a little way away for now, knowing that they would only attract attention inside the city. Hasufel and Arod were obedient, and they would stay nearby until called. Two unbridled horses -Hasufel's tack being in Aragorn's pack and Arod having none in the first place- would draw little interest outside the walls, and they could easily outrun pursuit.

"This looks hopeful," muttered Greenleaf, indicating ahead. A door was outlined in the stone wall, though there were no handles or bolt on the outward wall.

"It's not meant to be opened from this side," said Aragorn dubiously.

"Obviously," said Greenleaf, "it'd be an easy way in for any besieger then, wouldn't it?" He didn't seem concerned.

He dug into his pack quickly and pulled a stiff wire from one of the seams. Applying one eye to the edge of the door, he examined the crack from top to bottom. There was very little light from the other side, but just enough.

"I think it's only latched," he said after a minute, "I suppose they wouldn't be expecting anyone to try this way."

"Which hopefully means there's no guards on the other side either," said Aragorn.

"Hopefully," agreed Greenleaf.

He passed his wire through the crack of the door and pushed upwards experimentally. The latch lifted easily.

"Hold this," he told Aragorn, giving him the end of the wire.

He fished in his pack again, taking out two thin pieces of wire, each bent at a right angle. He inserted these through the crack also, turning them so the bent end rested flat against the door on the other side.

"Now to see how well they've kept the hinges oiled," he said.

"Are you sure it doesn't open the other way? It would be easier to push it."

"Precisely," said Greenleaf. "An inwards opening door would be too easy to breach. This little door hasn't the weight of the main gates. It's only intended as an escape way, I would guess. It would be all but invisible to an attacking army anyway, and impractical if they were being attacked from above. Now shut up and just hold that latch open."

Aragorn, diplomatically not pointing out that Greenleaf had been doing most of the talking rather than him, did as he was told. Greenleaf held his two pieces of metal about a forearm's length apart near the centre of the door and braced his feet against the ground. He pulled, pitting his muscles against the weight of stone. It was no contest.

With only the faintest grinding noise the stone door began to swing open. The latch was made was made so that it lifted clear of the wall when the door opened. Greenleaf looked across at Aragorn as the edge of the door came away from the wall.

"There could be any number of guards waiting, just watching the door," he whispered.

"Now there's comfort," answered Aragorn. He was on the right of the door as it opened and consequently was the first to see inside. It was dark, but not too dark. "Clear," he whispered.

Greenleaf took his door-opening tools and replaced them in his pack, swinging it onto his back. "Let's go. Keep as quiet as you can."

"I know," said Aragorn, "that much is pretty obvious."

Greenleaf pulled a face at the man then led the way through the door, his hand on the hilt of his knife. There was no one there. The door was by the side of a building, hidden in shadow. They pulled it shut behind them, latching it too. Greenleaf pulled his hood even further over his face and they went out into the street. It was empty.

"Do you think there's a curfew?" asked Aragorn in a low voice.

"Could be," said Greenleaf. "We'd better stay hidden as we go."

Moving from shadow to shadow, they worked their way up the street. It was eerily quiet, considering how large the city was and how many people lived in it. It was still some time before midnight but all the pubs they passed were closed, their windows dark and silent. It was very different from when Greenleaf had been in the city last. There was a tangible air of fear, as if all the residents were huddled in their beds, using their blankets as shields against some unknown terror. Every window was shuttered, save for the few houses that looked empty anyway. Something was wrong in the city. It was devoid of life and cheer. Greenleaf half-shuddered at the bleakness of it all.

They passed a few guards as they went, but none were familiar until they turned into Dragontail Road. A guard was heading towards them, one that Greenleaf recognised. He and Aragorn stood well back in the shadow until the guard was just passing them. Greenleaf stepped forward.

"Sergeant Wilson?" he asked in a low voice.

Wilson stopped suddenly, peering into the shadows. "Who is it?"

"You remember me, sergeant," said Greenleaf, pushing back his hood a little, "we want to see Captain Welch."

"You!" exclaimed Wilson, recognising the Elf. "If you get seen you'll be arrested," he continued in a whisper.

"We thought that might be the case, being the trouble we had getting into the city," said Greenleaf, "but nevertheless, we wish to see Captain Welch. Will you take us?"

"Just the two of you?" Wilson frowned. "All right. But don't be seen. If you're spotted, I've never seen you before in my life."

"We understand."

Sergeant Wilson led through a labyrinth of back alleys and narrow passageways, taking care to be far enough ahead that any observer would not link him with the pair that followed him in the shadows.

"How do we know he isn't to us?" asked Aragorn, his mouth directly beside Greenleaf's ear. "He could just be turning us in."

"I like to think the best of people," replied Greenleaf, "besides, I can usually tell when people are lying. He's military; too straight-laced to lie easily."

"You'd better be right," said Aragorn, ducking a low strung washing line.

"I try," said Greenleaf, a sardonic smile just visible under his hood.

"I think you mean you're trying. Very trying."

"And you're still trying for that offhand humour. Leave it to the professionals, young man."

"I am eighty-seven, you know," said Aragorn, with mock irritation.

"You don't look a day over forty," countered Greenleaf, "and you don't act a day over ten."

Any further argument was forestalled by their arrival at the guardhouse. It was the same one that Greenleaf had been to before, in more cheerful times. Two guards stood outside the front door. Greenleaf wondered idly whether they were the same two.

"We'll go in the back entrance," whispered Wilson, leading them round the side of the guardhouse.

Greenleaf caught a snatch of the door guards' conversation. "...something beginning with W..." He grinned. Same two. He'd have put money on it. Wilson led them through a small door and up a narrow staircase. Just as he raised his hand to knock on the door a voice came from within.

"Come in, Wilson. You've brought someone with you."

"How does he do that?" muttered Wilson, opening the door.

Greenleaf decided not to mention the creaks the wooden staircase gave, which the sergeant was probably so used to he didn't hear them. He noticed with amusement that Welch had only said "someone", obviously not having heard his own light Elvish footsteps. He and Aragorn entered the room, which was empty apart from Wilson, standing to one side, and Welch, sitting at his desk. Welch looked at them in surprise, his pipe smoking gently in his hand.

"Good evening, captain," said Greenleaf, letting his hood fall back. "You remember me."

"That I do," said Welch, after a pause in which he controlled his surprise, "but not your friend."

"You can call me Strider," said Aragorn, pushing his own hood back.

"Very well." Welch looked at Wilson. "Sergeant, do you have some duty rosters to attend to?"

"I suppose so," said Wilson slowly, making his way to the door. He looked reluctant.

"See that we're not disturbed, won't you?" said Welch.

Wilson saluted half-heartedly and left the room. Welch watched him go then turned to his visitors.

"I find it interesting that you're here. Particularly remembering your predilection for solving, shall we say, problems. Are you here with something like that in mind?"

"Yes, something like that."

Welch pursed his mouth for a moment then smiled. "Then I'm glad that you're here. There's a lot of bad stuff going on here now."

"Bad stuff?" asked Greenleaf, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a long story," warned Welch, "you'd better make yourselves comfortable." He puffed on his pipe.

Aragorn sat on one of the chairs, crossing his legs and taking out his own pipe Greenleaf remained standing, arms folded across his chest. The upstairs room of the guardhouse was small and rather dim. The window was filthy and each small pane was slightly distorted in a different way. Greenleaf looked out, onto the street below.

"You don't want to hang around too close to the window, "said Welch, "you'll be seen and then you'll be for it."

"Something against Elves here?" asked Aragorn.

"Against all foreigners," replied Welch, "men included."

"That's worse than when I was here last," remarked Greenleaf. "So what's been going on here since then?"

Welch did a quick check that all windows and doors were closed then sat back in his chair, which creaked. "Well," he began, "they do say that it's the Steward's doing. Obviously it was him that signed the legislation banning foreigners, but the feeling's been around in the city for a while now."

"I noticed that the reception was a little less friendly than last time," said Greenleaf, "excepting yourself, of course."

"Aye, well, Denethor's started coming down hard on anyone who ain't Gondorian. Get caught and you'll be arrested."

"By you?" asked Greenleaf.

"Officially, yes," replied Welch, "but I don't quite agree with the idea. Not that I let on, naturally. If I did then I'd be the one getting carted off."

"Really?" asked Aragorn, frowning. "That seems harsh."

"It is, but it's true." Welch looked morose for a moment. "Private Godfrey got hauled away a few weeks ago," he said quietly. "He was heard "criticising the Steward's rule". Next day he'd just vanished. His wife said that he was called for in the middle of the night. Poor Maggie. We take care of her now, helping her out with money and that. But no one knows where he's gone, and he's not the only one."

"If no one knows where they're taken," said Greenleaf, "who takes them there?"

Welch scowled. "Yes, obviously someone knows, but not us. Not the people."

"So who does this then? I'd have thought the guards were responsible for law and order."

"We are, but this goes beyond law and order. We just deal with street-level crime really, thefts and muggings and the suchlike. Though I'll say one thing -crimes have gone down recently." Welch grimaced. "Probably because they've made the punishments harsher. But we're just thief-takers really; we don't do anything deemed important."

"And "important" is taking people away in the dead of night? Don't tell me: they're "enemies of the people"."

Welch nodded at Greenleaf's comment. "That's about the size of it. You see there's another lot of guards inside the guards, if you get what I mean."

Aragorn's expression showed quite clearly that he didn't.

"Well," explained Welch, "within the body of men in the guards there's a group -the élites really- made of all the clever ones. Have you ever heard the saying "Quis custodiet ipsos custodes"?"

"Who guards the guards themselves?" Greenleaf translated. "I see. They watch you."

"But who watches them?" asked Aragorn.

"They watch each other, I expect," replied Greenleaf. "I imagine that there'll be men among them who report to the Steward, or men who report to men who report to the Steward."

"All of which makes it very difficult to know who to trust," said Welch. "My lads I've had from the start. I won't trust any newcomer implicitly and neither do they." He took a long puff on his pipe. "These Blacktunics -they're named for the colour they wear- they watch everyone, not just the other guards. They do the dirty work, you know? And in return they get," he rolled the word round and spat it out, "perks. They get higher pay, better houses, the lot."

"And the Steward is in overall charge of the entire system?" asked Aragorn.

"Yes, though officially its his youngest son Faramir who's Commander of the City Guard. He's not bad, sweeter in temperament than his brother Boromir, but it's Denethor who controls everything."

"Surely the people won't just accept this," said Greenleaf. "Not just from the one man."

"They will," said Aragorn thoughtfully, "I rather think that in most people's minds, if not all of them, the Steward has replaced the King. It is a monarchist system after all, one that calls for a supreme ruler. It has been a long time since Ëarnur, the last man to sit on the throne. There have been twenty-five Stewards since, with Denethor the twenty-sixth. It's a long time."

"What you say is true," said Welch, obviously impressed, "the Steward certainly has supreme rule."

Greenleaf said nothing. He could tell that Aragorn was still uneasy at the idea of being King, and the idea of how absolute power could corrupt was doing nothing to persuade the man. Greenleaf -himself the son of a King- could see, to an extent, where Aragorn was coming from, though he was unlikely to accede to the throne himself. Thranduil had never shown any inclination to step down, and Greenleaf was glad of it. He was happy as he was, without that sort of responsibility. He felt a little sorry for Aragorn, though they both knew it was necessary.

"What else has the Steward had done?" he asked. "It's not just these...Blacktunics, is it?"

"No, it isn't." Welch sighed. "I already told you that he's ordered foreigners arrested. He seems to have a conviction that they're all guilty of plotting against the good of the city." He shrugged. "I don't know why he's so sure. But, well, those who've been arrested haven't just been locked up. For the most part they're executed, or they vanish."

"Executed?" Aragorn looked up in surprise. "For what crime -being foreign?"

Welch nodded. "I'm afraid so. You two'll have to be very careful. There've been big trials of foreigners caught in the city, but the charges levelled against them were just...just ridiculous. And it's not just foreigners. Lots of the high up councillors have been removed from office and put on trial. There've been the most incredible confessions, and they just can't be true, really they can't. Trouble is, anyone that says so is most likely to be dragged off themselves."

"But that's ludicrous!" said Aragorn. "People don't just believe everything they're told!"

"They're "special measures". To get Minas Tirith through these perilous times and into the days of glory once more."

"Now that's political wording," said Greenleaf. He fixed Welch with a look. "What "perilous times"?"

"You know," said the captain, "the shadow away to the East. The Steward's always going on about the threat of war and suchlike. He's been increasing the number of guards to ready for it."

"War with whom?" asked Greenleaf.

Welch looked at him incredulously. "Sauron, of course," he whispered, afraid even of the name.

Greenleaf snorted. "Now that is ridiculous."

"Why?" asked Welch. His pipe was forgotten in his hand.

"Because Sauron's dead, that's why. I killed him."

"What?" Welch seemed to be in the realms of disbelief.

"It's true," chipped in Aragorn.

"You must have seen it when Orodruin went up," said Greenleaf, "it was a big enough blast."

"They said it was Sauron showing us his might," said Welch, though he sounded less than certain.

"That was Sauron's secret volcano lair erupting," said Greenleaf, "with Sauron's dead body inside."

"So that means..." Welch shook his head. "That's incredible." He said nothing for a while as he relit his pipe, which had gone out during the conversation. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

Greenleaf leant on the back of Aragorn's chair. "We're going to overthrow the Steward and reinstate justice."

Welch choked on his mouthful of smoke. "You speak treason!" he exclaimed, eyes watering.

The Elf grinned. "Fluently."

There was more coughing and eye-popping as Welch tried to make sense of it. Finally, he managed some semblance of speech. "And who, pray, will you replace him with?" he asked.

"A king," replied Greenleaf. "The King, in fact." He noticed that Aragorn was staying very quiet.

"You know where the rightful King of Gondor is?" asked Welch.

"I do," said Greenleaf, not saying where.

Welch looked thoughtful. "Then it could be what we are waiting for. There are those among us who wish for change, for people to be able to speak freely without being arrested. It is a terrible thing to always live in fear."

"So can we count on you for support?" asked Greenleaf carefully. It was a crucial question.

Welch took a deep breath. "I'm sticking my neck out here," he said, "but yes. As far as we are able to."

"Thank you," said Aragorn quietly.

"Aye, thank you," agreed Greenleaf, "it is much appreciated."

"Least I could do," muttered Welch, a little embarrassed. "I can find you somewhere to stay, though you'll have to be careful or we'll all be found out. You, Master Elf, will have to keep your rather distinctive features under your hood."

"Of course," said Greenleaf, "that was an assumption I had already made."

"Just checking," said Welch, "just checking. Now, let me see. My missus wouldn't mind a couple of extra mouths; since my son got married and moved out she's missed the company. And we've plenty of room, provided you two don't mind sharing a room."

"Not at all," said Greenleaf.

"We can pay," added Aragorn.

"Oh, there's no need for that. We're happy to help, really. I'm due off shift about now anyway, so we'll head off." He stood and went over to the door on the opposite side to where they had come in. He opened the door. "Wilson! I'm going off shift now!" he called down the stairs. "Take charge, will you?" He shut the door and picked up his cloak. "Let's go."

The house he led them to was fairly small and modest in appearance. After checking that the street was empty, Welch opened the door and beckoned them in after him. They went through a dim hallway and into a rather large kitchen. Already there was a rotund, middle-aged woman, scouring out a pan with large reddened hands.

"Hello, love," she greeted Welch, and then she saw the pair behind him. "Oh. You brought friends."

"Yes, dear," said Welch, kissing her on the cheek, "important friends, if you get my drift."

"I see," she said, looking at them searchingly. "Well, introduce them."

"Oh, of course. This is Strider, and this here's...I'm sorry, I don't actually know your name."

"I've probably never told you. It's Greenleaf. Legolas Greenleaf."

"Ah. Legolas, Strider, this is my wife, Bethan." Welch put his arm around her.

"Madam," said Greenleaf, pushing his hood back, "it is my pleasure." He took her hand and kissed it gallantly.

"Thank you," she said, blushing a little.

"Is he always this smooth?" Welch asked Aragorn.

"When he wants to be," replied the ranger. "It's quite sickening, really it is."

"You're just jealous," retorted Greenleaf cheerfully.

"Anyway," said Welch, "I've said they can stay for a bit. Is that all right, dear?"

Bethan put her hands on her hips and regarded the pair. "Oh, that's fine."

"Thank you, madam," said Aragorn.

"Call me Bethan," she said. "Do you want any food or anything? We've quite a bit in the house, considering."

"No, thank you," said Greenleaf, "we ate not so long ago."

"I'll show you to your room," said Welch, "it's just up the stairs. I'll be down for me supper in a minute, love."

He led them upstairs, finding his way easily in the dark. Greenleaf and Aragorn, not so familiar with the house, banged their shins more than a few times. Welch opened a door at the top of the stairs. He lit a lamp just inside and ushered the other two in.

"Did I mention that it was only one bed?" he asked.

"No," said Aragorn, "but it's all right."

"You'd better not snore," muttered Greenleaf.

"Who, me?" asked Aragorn. "Surely I can't snore louder than Gimli."

"That Dwarf can snore," agreed Greenleaf.

"I won't ask," said Welch. "I expect you'll be wanting to get started tomorrow, whatever your plans are. Bethan tends to get up early, and she does a damn good breakfast. Best to get some sleep now, I'd say."

"Thank you so much," said Greenleaf.

"It's nothing." Welch smiled. "Good night. What there is left of it." He shut the door, and they heard him going downstairs.

"So," said Aragorn, sitting on the edge of the bed to take his boots off," what are our plans?"

"Hmm." Greenleaf went over to close the curtains, being careful not to be seen. "It'd be useful to know what the Steward is thinking."

"You mean spying on him?" asked Aragorn. He unfastened his cloak and hung it on the door. "How?" He took the Elf's cloak and hung it up also.

Greenleaf bent to unlace his boots. "There'll be guards round the Citadel."

"You mean if I disguise myself as a guard then I could get in and listen?"

"Something like that." Greenleaf unfastened his overtunic and pulled it off over his head.

"Well, you couldn't do it. You'd be too easily spotted."

Greenleaf said nothing, folding the green tunic neatly.

Aragorn laughed. "You're jealous, aren't you? Jealous that you can't do it!" He removed his tunic, dropping it on the floor in a heap.

Greenleaf tutted, picking it up and folding the garment. "Don't be so childish, man," he chided.

Aragorn stuck out his tongue in retaliation. Greenleaf pulled a face back and went over to blow out the lamp. His bare feet felt every splinter and knothole of the old wooden floorboards. There was a creak as Aragorn settled himself on the bed, pulling the blanket up. Greenleaf lay down beside him, crossing his arms on his chest in his customary fashion. Aragorn sighed.

"We are going to be able to do this, aren't we?" he asked sleepily.

"Of course we are," said Greenleaf. "Am I ever wrong?"

There was no answer, and he knew the man was asleep. He sent a silent prayer to the Valar. Please, please, let him be right.


	3. Down And Out In The City

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: Okay, okay, here you go. Chapter three. I've been a wee bit busy lately, what with working for money over Christmas and then realising that I had essays to write. Update on this: I've now almost finished my degree. Ffn hasn't let me upload anything in forever so here's hoping. Thanks to Artanis Ancalime (who pokes me when I'm slow), Leap (here 'tis!), and Fireblade's Song (I'm so glad I got you into Bond books. I love them so!).

Something actually happens in this chapter. Wow.

GGGGGGGGGG

Chapter 3.

When Greenleaf woke the next morning, it was to find Aragorn's head firmly pressed against his shoulder. The man had rolled over at some time during the night and lay right up against Greenleaf's side, fast asleep and snoring lightly. Greenleaf muttered something unintelligible and elbowed him. Aragorn grunted.

"Leave me alone," he muttered.

He pulled himself closer to his Elven pillow, intending to return to sleep. Greenleaf poked him harder.

"Wake up," he said. "I've already heard Mrs Welch going downstairs."

"Don't want to," protested Aragorn.

"Don't be such a pain," said Greenleaf. He seized the blanket and yanked it off the man.

It didn't take them long, despite Aragorn's reluctance, to dress and get ready for breakfast. Welch was already downstairs, tucking into a plate of fried bacon. Mouth full, he waved them to sit while Mrs Welch hurried up behind them with two plates. She dished out two generous helpings of bacon with a smile.

"Good morning," said Welch, after he had finished his mouthful. "Did you sleep well?"

"Fine, thank you," said Greenleaf, resisting the urge to comment on Aragorn's snoring.

"So what are your plans?" asked Welch.

Greenleaf's gaze flicked momentarily over to Mrs Welch. Welch caught the glance.

"You don't have worry about the good lady wife," he said. "She knows what's going on."

"And I can be helpful," put in Mrs Welch.

Greenleaf acknowledged that with a nod. "Well," he said, "knowing how Denethor is thinking would be a good start. Of course, that means getting inside the Citadel."

"I'm in charge of some of the guard rosters up there," said Welch.

"That's what we thought," said Greenleaf, "or hoped at least."

"And if I can be posted there as a guard," said Aragorn, "then I can hear what's going on. Obviously, Legolas couldn't do it, he'd be too different. He'd stand out."

"That's true," said Welch. "I can get you up there, Strider. Unfortunately, I can't be there with you, I've got other things to do. But you'll be with one of my lads."

"I'll come up to the guardhouse with you," said Greenleaf, "as I can't do anything else."

Aragorn's expression clearly asked whether that course of action was wise.

"I want to see how the actual city is," continued the Elf. "Some of it, at least."

"How well can you pass as a man?" asked Welch.

It was Mrs Welch who answered. "It's raining heavily out there," she said. "Everyone's going to be going around with their hoods up. You shouldn't draw any attention."

"Guarding is so much fun in the rain," grumbled Welch. "I'll post you somewhere inside, Strider. We should leave in an hour."

Greenleaf managed to disguise himself as a man quite well. He borrowed a spare tunic of Aragorn's, its folds disguising his lithe form. Welch had lent him a pair of boots, clumsier than his own but they help him fit in. He sat on the edge of the bed, unplaiting the small braids around his face. Aragorn entered the room.

"Bethan sent these up," he said, dropping a couple of pieces of fabric on the bed.

Greenleaf picked one up with one hand, still freeing his hair with the other. It was a rather grubby fingerless glove.

"She said your hands were too pretty," continued Aragorn, "she advised getting your fingernails dirty as well. "Little details" was her comment."

"She has a good eye," said Greenleaf. He studied his hands critically. "Huh. Pretty, my -"

"We'll find some dirt when we go out," interrupted Aragorn.

"You need to take that ring of yours off," said Greenleaf, "it'll be a bit obvious."

Reluctantly, Aragorn did so, tucking the ring away into his pack. He noticed the long knife lying beside Greenleaf on the bed, inside its dark leather sheath. "Are you taking that?" he asked. "Welch said that civilians aren't allowed to carry weapons."

"It'll be concealed," said Greenleaf. He finished unbraiding and began combing his hair back with his fingers. He started to pull it back into a single plait. "What about you?"

"The guard uniform includes a sword and a crossbow. I should be fine."

Greenleaf tied the end of his plait and stood up. He undid his tunic and picked up his knife. He strapped it to his left side and fastened the tunic again, pulling a belt round his waist. He took his cloak from the back of the door and fastened it at his neck. It was a plain, somewhat battered garment, fairly non-descript. Aragorn donned his own and they went downstairs. Welch was waiting. He looked Greenleaf over.

"Not bad," he said, "you'll do. Let's go."

As Mrs Welch had said, it was raining heavily. Gondorians hurried through the streets, hunched up against the downpour. Greenleaf, Aragorn and Welch made their way through unnoticed. Mud splashed up as a cart rolled past, pulled by a skinny, bored-looking horse. It was a miserable day, but it make for perfect cover.

"Why are there so many empty shops?" asked Aragorn, looking up at them curiously.

"Don't stare at them," said Welch quickly, "you'll be noticed." He had a quick look around then pulled Aragorn and Greenleaf closer. "They're empty either because the owners have been hauled off or because there isn't anything to sell."

"Nothing to sell?" asked Greenleaf. "How come?"

"I don't know exactly," answered Welch, "but words bandied about include "war production" and stuff like that."

"Sounds terrible," said Aragorn.

"It is a bit. Quite a lot of food's been rationed." Welch glanced around again. "Come on, let's get a move on."

They entered the guardhouse by the back way again, going up the stairs. Welch went to the door that led to the downstairs room. "Wilson!" he bellowed.

"Doesn't he ever go home?" asked Greenleaf.

"Several of the guards live in the building," said Welch, "there's rooms for them. The bachelors especially though some, like Wilson, live here with their wives. Banding together for safety, I reckon."

Sergeant Wilson came in, one boot on and the other in his hand. There were toast crumbs around his mouth. He saluted Welch hurriedly, smacking himself in the forehead with his boot as he did. Rubbing his head, he stood to attention in front of his captain. Welch was looking through the papers on his overloaded desk.

"I really need to clear this mess up," he said, half to himself. "Now, sergeant, you're up in the Steward's Hall today with young Pike. I want you to take Strider here with you." He indicated Aragorn with one hand. "There's got to be a spare uniform around somewhere."

"There's Private Godfrey's spare gear, sir," said Wilson, "this way, Mister Strider."

"Be careful," said Greenleaf, "I'd hate to tell your lady love that you got into trouble."

"That goes for you too," responded Aragorn, "just imagine what her ladyship would say."

"If anyone asks," said Welch, "you're my wife's second cousin. But that's only in casual conversation mind. You ain't got the papers to back it up."

Aragorn nodded and followed Wilson down the stairs. The wood creaked and groaned as they went. The stairs ended in a small room, dark and smoky. A fire burned in the fireplace, heating an old kettle that hung above it. A few socks dangled from the mantelpiece. Two guards sat in chairs by the fire, eating bacon. They looked up but returned their gazes down almost instantly. Aragorn understood. What they didn't see they didn't know. Wilson led him through to another room, one that seemed to be a locker room. A guard was in there, a young man probably still in his teens. He saluted eagerly, keenness oozing from every pore.

"At ease, Pike," said Wilson.

"Yes, sir!"

Wilson leaned over towards Aragorn. "Strider ain't exactly a Gondorian style of name," he muttered. "Is there another you can use?"

Aragorn paused. "Thorongil."

"Good enough," said Wilson. He addressed Pike. "Private, we're on duty in the Steward's Hall. This is Thorongil, he's on with us."

"Nice to meet you," said Pike, a little shyly.

"Now," said Wilson, opening a locker, "here. You can wear this uniform."

He handed a pile of clothes to Aragorn. There was a pair of breeches, boots, a shirt, a breastplate and a helmet. Wilson passed over a short sword in a sheath and crossbow. Aragorn thanked him and began to change.

GGGGGGGGG

Greenleaf headed back from the guardhouse after he left Aragorn there. He walked through the streets with his hood still pulled up tight round his face. It was still raining, though it had lessened to a drizzle. He scowled a little as he went. It was frustrating, not being able to do anything while Aragorn went off with the guards. Obviously he wouldn't have looked right as a guard, being an Elf, whereas Aragorn would fit right in, but it was still irritating. He considered going to sit and sulk for a bit.

The streets were not very busy and Greenleaf didn't draw any attention as he walked along, hunched over against the rain like everyone else. He went past the closed and empty shops with barely a sideways glance, as a native Gondorian would. He was glad that Minas Tirith was such a large city; it meant that people didn't know everyone else, and gave him the chance of being unnoticed. However, as he passed a small alleyway a pair of eyes regarded him suspiciously.

A hand shot out and grabbed his arm, yanking him into the alley. He made no audible protest -not wanting to draw attention- but span to face the other person as soon as he was in the alley. He was met by a sword, pointed directly at the base of his throat.

"You're no Gondorian," said the stranger. He was quite young, with shoulder-length fair hair and a stubbly beard.

"What makes you say that?" asked Greenleaf, feigning ignorance. He tried to pull his arm free, but the man tightened his grip.

The sword came up and pushed Greenleaf's hood back, revealing his definitely unmanlike features. His pointed ears and long golden hair were undoubtedly foreign to the city. The man stared for a moment, but his sword never left Greenleaf's neck.

"This way," he hissed, pulling the Elf after him down the alley.

Greenleaf didn't move, standing firm where he was.

"Look, I'm not going to arrest you," said the man, "I just want to talk to you, all right?"

Greenleaf regarded him coolly. "Do you feel like putting your sword away then?"

There was a brief pause when their eyes met and vied with one another. Then the sword was removed and resheathed at its owner's side. The man released Greenleaf's arm.

"This way," he said. "Please, I just want to talk to you."

Greenleaf, against his better judgement but pulled by curiosity, nodded. Pulling up his hood again, he followed the man down the alley. He kept his hand ready near the knife at his side. At the end of the alley was a small unremarkable door. The man opened it and gestured for Greenleaf to go first. Greenleaf didn't.

"It's safe," assured the man.

Despite his misgivings, which were getting stronger by the minute, Greenleaf walked through the door. It was dark inside, and he only had time for a brief impression of a small room before the door closed behind him, filling it with darkness. Greenleaf tensed, and then a brief hiss signified the lighting of a lamp. A glow lit the room, allowing him to see it again. It was quite bare, with only two wooden chairs, one table and no windows.

"Do sit down," said the man, sitting himself, "and you can remove your hood now."

Greenleaf remained standing, though he did push back his hood. "How did you know?" he asked.

The man smiled. "You do it very well," he said, "but you can't quite disguise the way you move. It's too smooth and graceful. I look for these things. I trained with the Rangers before my f- the Steward closed the city."

Greenleaf caught the slip of the tongue. He gave the man a long searching look. He wore a tunic with the White Tree emblazoned on the front, like the ones worn by the city guards under their breastplates. The Elf put two and two together easily. "You're Faramir, aren't you?" he asked. "The Steward's youngest son?"

Faramir looked surprised. "Yes, I am," he admitted, "though I do not know your name."

"No, you don't," said Greenleaf calmly. "What do you want?"

"Why are you here?" asked Faramir. "Like I said, I'm not going to arrest you. We don't get many Elves here, not any, in fact."

"I fancied a trip," said Greenleaf, a little evasively. He didn't have tell this man anything. "What about you?"

"Me?" Faramir's surprise was clear.

"I get the feeling that you're not too happy with your father's closing the city."

"You should be careful of what you say around here," warned Faramir, "there's always someone listening."

"I did get that idea, but I expect we're all right here, aren't we? Now answer my question."

There was a long pause. "I'm not quite sure about some of my father's decisions of late. I don't think that all of his information is quite correct, despite his confidence in it." He looked Greenleaf directly in the eyes. "I've heard that Sauron is dead."

"Ah." Greenleaf sat in the chair opposite Faramir, crossing his right ankle on his left knee. "Would it please you to know that it is true?"

"How do you know?"

"I killed him."

Faramir did look suitably impressed, though he was suspicious. "Why should I believe you?"

Greenleaf shrugged. "You don't have to. It is true though."

"So there's no threat from the East anymore?"

"Not from Sauron. I think that there were quite a lot of orcs left, but without a leader."

Faramir looked worried. "But my father has been implementing all these measures -detention of foreigners and so forth- in preparation for war."

GGGGGGGGG

Aragorn looked around surreptitiously as they entered as they entered the Steward's Hall. It was long, built of white stone, and with a set of steps at the far end leading up to a throne. A chair, not quite a throne but quite close, stood at the foot of the steps. Tall statues lined the two long walls, each one a King. Aragorn felt their gazes all the way down the hall. Though their eyes were blank stone, they still watched him. His boots tapped on the floor as he went.

Three guards stepped forwards from the walls. The one in the centre, the sergeant, saluted Wilson as he, Aragorn and Pike came up to them.

"Morning, Wilson," he said, "time for us to go for breakfast at last."

"Yes, it's all right for some, isn't it?" said Wilson. "Be off with you."

The guards laughed and went off, glad to be going off-shift. Aragorn took his place beside Wilson, looking out along the length of the hall. They were behind the Steward's chair, to the side of the throne and against the wall.

"Pike!" hissed Wilson. "Take off that bloody scarf!"

"But me mam..." began Pike.

"I don't care. Take it off!"

Pike hastily removed his scarf, looking a little mutinous as he did. He tucked it away somewhere in his uniform.

"Me mam said I'd catch me death if I didn't wear it," he muttered.

"You know that duty in the Steward's Hall requires full uniform," snapped Wilson, "now, quiet."

Aragorn stood, back straight and attention forward. He could smell the leather and metal of the uniform, and he wondered for a moment about the man that it had belonged to. There was a gentle smell of pipe smoke, a different weed to that which Aragorn smoked. It was a cheaper brand but not too bad. He didn't think that Godfrey had been a bad man, just unfortunate from the sound of it. Things really weren't good when a guardsman could vanish in the middle of the night. He gazed out from behind his helmet. It was designed to protect the face, and therefore covered part of his features.

The doors at the end of the hall opened and two men walked in. They looked a little similar, though one was clearly younger. Wilson turned his head for a moment.

"That's the Steward and his son, Boromir," he whispered, and then turned his head front again.

Aragorn watched them with renewed interest. Denethor was the shorter of the two, with shoulder-length iron-grey hair, straggly with grease around the edges. He wore a long cloak with thick fur covering the shoulders. Boromir strode beside his father, his bearing more noble and warrior-like. His clothing looked stained from travel and a great sword still hung by his side. He was handsome, with a face that could be described as rugged, and a solid stature. He stood by the table that was in front of the Steward's chair. Denethor sat, sinking into the chair.

"What have you to report?" he asked, looking up at his son.

"There is much movement in the East," said Boromir, "forces gather at the Black Gate. There are many orcs, father, too many. We have not enough men in Minas Tirith to fight them. They will march forth someday soon."

Aragorn listened to Boromir's report, both worried about the news and intrigued by Boromir's position. It seemed he was a spy for Denethor, keeping a watch on the enemies of Gondor. It was much the same as Aragorn himself had done for Rivendell, or Greenleaf had done for Lothlórien and Mirkwood. Denethor twitched in his chair.

"It is Sauron's work," he said decisively, "it cannot be doubted!"

Boromir seemed a little unsure. "I saw no evidence of his leadership. The orcs seemed not entirely organised."

"It must be Sauron," said Denethor coldly. "There is no one else it could be."

"Of course," said Boromir, capitulating to his father's judgement.

Aragorn was a little surprised by this. Obviously he knew that it wasn't Sauron -Sauron was dead after all- but it was Boromir's instant change of mind that caught his attention. Surely the man was too intelligent to simply accept Denethor's decision? Aragorn watched him carefully, taking care to avert whenever Boromir glanced his way, which wasn't often. The guards were obviously only background, clearly unregarded.

"What are we to do?" asked Boromir. "They will march on our gates."

"We must root out all sources of insurgency within our walls," said Denethor. "Only by purging the inside can we protect ourselves from the outside threat." His voice became impassioned. "When we can trust each other we can stand together to defeat Sauron!"

But if you get rid of too many people then there won't be enough to fight, thought Aragorn. Surely Denethor could see that! Maybe Boromir would pick him up on it.

"Of course, father," said Boromir.

Aragorn realised suddenly that Boromir, this fully grown man, was seeking his father's approval, or at least trying to keep it. It was perfectly natural, he supposed, but when the father's ideas were as extreme and wrong as these, it was worrying. He listened as Denethor continued speaking.

"I expect the guards need another purification. Faramir is too soft on them. The boy's not got the stomach to be a leader." He snorted angrily.

"He does his best," said Boromir.

Ah, thought Aragorn, he opposes his father when his brother's worth is called into question. Interesting.

"We must go on with the removal of foreigners," continued Denethor, as if his son had not even spoken. "The purity of Gondorian blood must not be weakened any further. Anyone not from Gondor will betray us to Sauron!" Spit flew from his mouth.

"Yes, father," said Boromir, "we are doing all we can."

"It is not enough!" snapped Denethor. "You will give the men quotas of insurgents. I want at least ten in the cells every week. And there will be bonuses if they find extra. Understood?"

Boromir was silent for a moment. Aragorn was shocked at the Steward's orders. Having quotas and bonuses like that would only mean that innocent people were hauled in to keep up numbers. It would be a crude way of appearing to gain results without caring about the people themselves. It did seem that the power had indeed gone to Denethor's head and he was abusing it in a most cruel way. There was no way that anybody could condone such a system. It was unnecessary.

"I shall see that it is done," said Boromir eventually, "though it seems a little harsh."

"Harsh times call for harsh measures," said Denethor curtly. "See to it."

Boromir bowed his head and took his leave, striding down the hall with long steps. Denethor remained in his seat, frowning darkly. He didn't seem particularly happy.

Aragorn twitched his toes inside his boots. He could feel all the bloody pooling in his feet and he willed it to pump round the rest of his body too. Standing still in one place was a more difficult task than it sounded. He wasn't sure if he could take a job that had him do that everyday, not to mention the boredom factor. It gave him a whole new respect for the City Guards. Doing nothing was harder than it looked. He couldn't wait for the shift to be over already. He wanted to get back and discuss the situation with Greenleaf.

It wouldn't take him long, after the shift, to get back to Welch's house. He was sure he could get back through the city streets unnoticed.


	4. Suspicion Of Being A Foreigner

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: I'm currently in the process of re-typing the rest of the chapters for this (and removing many an unnecessary comma...) so they shall all be up anon. I'm also working at editing the first in the series (I started writing it at least four years ago, which is quite a long time ago now). You never know, I may even write the next one someday. My degree is finally finished. So I'm sure that's good news to all one of you (thanks, hon!) who is reading this.

Chapter 4.

"So, can I ask you what you are doing here?" questioned Faramir.

"You can ask." Greenleaf sat, apparently relaxed, though ready to move at a moment's notice. "You won't get an answer though."

"I suppose I don't want to know," said Faramir.

Greenleaf raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say that. Will you tell your father that Sauron is dead?"

Faramir tugged at his lip with his teeth. "No," he said, "he wouldn't believe me. And he'd want to know my sources."

"And you want to protect me?" asked Greenleaf, disbelief in his voice.

"Not necessarily," said Faramir, smiling a little. "But he won't believe your word because you're an Elf, and therefore a foreigner."

"Then how will the situation improve if you will not tell the Steward?"

Faramir shrugged. "It won't, I suppose. But that's how it is. He will not listen."

"Not even to you?" asked Greenleaf. "You're his son." He watched carefully, noting the sudden stiffening of Faramir's posture. "I'd have thought he would listen to you at least."

"Apparently not," said Faramir curtly.

Greenleaf decided to probe further into this. "What about your brother - Boromir, isn't it? Does your father listen to him?"

"To an extent," replied Faramir. "Father hears only what he wants to from Boromir's reports. He - why are you asking me all these questions?"

"I'm interested. You seem to know what's going on in the city. What are you going to do then? Keep your head down and wait for him to die?"

"Please!" protested Faramir. "This is my father you're talking about."

"I know." Greenleaf wasn't going to let any emotion get in his way. He knew now that in order to save the city he might have to kill the Steward. It was a task he was prepared to do if necessary. Obviously, there would be people upset by such an assassination, such as his family, but in the long run it would be better for the whole city. And that was what Greenleaf's job was. "It depends what you think of as more important," he told Faramir, "your father, who is just one man, or all the people of the city."

Faramir looked uncomfortable at this. "I had better be off," he said suddenly, "I am expected elsewhere. Can you find your own way back?"

Greenleaf heard the clear dismissal and nodded. "Of course." He stood, pulled his hood up and made his way to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle and looked back at the man. "Don't forget what I said."

"I don't think I will," said Faramir. He remained seated in his chair, watching as Greenleaf opened the door and vanished through it. The Steward's son stayed in the seat for quite a while, silent and contemplative.

Greenleaf strolled back through the streets, drawing little attention as he went. He was a good mimic, so it didn't take him long to get the walk, the belch and occasional intimate scratch down pat. He would go back to Welch's house and see if Mrs Welch had any tasks she needed help with.

GGGGGGGGG

Some hours later, Aragorn left the guardhouse, guard duty finished at last. It was just about lunchtime. The rain had lessened to a misty dribble, barely there at all. It was the sort of rain that you had to walk through to actually get wetted by it. Mud splashed his legs as he walked, both from his own steps and those of passers-by. The roads were in terrible disrepair. Everybody out on the streets looked cold, wet and miserable.

Aragorn was only a short distance on his way when there was a tap on his shoulder. Well, more like hand gripping his shoulder and stopping his progress. The hand was strong and confident; it obviously belonged to someone who knew what they were doing. Aragorn turned around. The hand belonged to a man who had to be one of the Blacktunics, judging by the colour of his clothing. There were two more men the same either side of him. None of the three looked particularly friendly or welcoming.

"What's your name, stranger?" asked the one on the left.

"Uh, Thorongil, sir," answered Aragorn, his mind running through a litany of 'oh bugger, oh bugger'.

"And where are your papers?" came the second question.

Aragorn tried hard not to let his panic show. He reached into his coat pocket. "Should be just in here." He let a frown cross his face and began checking all his pockets worriedly. "I'm sure I put them in there...forget my own head next..."

Two of the Blacktunics stepped forward and took his arms. Their grips were tight.

"You'll have to come with us," said the third. "This way."

Aragorn dug his heels in. "What am I accused of?"

"Suspicion of being a foreigner," said the Blacktunic coolly.

"Excuse me if I resist," said Aragorn. He ducked and dragged his arms, with their attendant guards, together. The two men's heads bashed together with a clang as their helmets hit . To their credit, the Blacktunics did react fast, though not fast enough. Aragorn had been well-trained in fighting dirty when necessary. He kicked one man in the back of the knees while simultaneously elbowing the other in the side. Both folded with loud exhalations of breath. The third man cursed and leapt forward. His fist would have hit Aragorn's jaw had the ranger not dodged the blow. His dark hair was ruffled by the Blacktunic's fist. Springing up, Aragorn knocked the man back with a return punch, sending him onto his back in the mud.

Allowing himself a brief look round, Aragorn was a bit surprised to see that the fight had drawn little attention from the other people out on the street. There were surreptitious glances, casual looks over shoulders, but not the outright staring he'd expected. Anywhere else this would have been street theatre, free for anyone to gawk at. The way the fight was ignored was frankly eerie. It was as if they weren't actually there. It was disturbing, and worrying. The people of Minas Tirith obviously lived in fear. Perhaps even watching a fight like this was a misdemeanour that deserved punishment. It was a chilling thought to consider.

Not having time to consider it, Aragorn fought on. While keeping the three guards from getting their hands on him, he also kept watching for a chance to escape. The men, who were clearly well-trained, had formed a circle round him. He was sure that if he could make a break then he could outpace them, but the problem was finding that break. As fast as he knocked one down, another went to him. He knew that he would start to tire soon while they, dividing the exertion between them, would be much fresher.

With a sudden burst, Aragorn slammed his leg up into one man's stomach. The man bent over with a loud gasp. Aragorn used the man's shoulders as a vaulting horse, swinging his legs over and propelling himself onto the street. He broke into a sprint instantly, taking a head start over the Blacktunics. The citizens carefully kept out of his way without appearing to do so. He skidded on the mud as he rounded a corner and gave a quick look back. The pursuit was a little way behind.

Unfortunately, in looking back he failed to look ahead. Another Blacktunic stood by the wall, a cosh in his hand, He brought it down on Aragorn's head, sending the man sprawling to the ground with a splash. Aragorn managed to look up just in time to see the cosh coming down again before he was knocked unconscious.

Another man watched as Aragorn was carried off by the Blacktunics. There was a nervous look on his young face. As soon as the Blacktunics and their captive were out of sight, the man took off down a back alley, sure of his way and direction. He was hardly glanced at as he went; he was well-known. Within minutes he reached the captain's house and was knocking on the door. Welch opened it with a surprised look.

"Pike," he said, "what are you doing here, lad?"

"It's Thorongil, sir," Pike replied breathlessly, "that man who was on guard in the Citadel with us."

"What about him?" asked Welch, worry in his tone.

"He was arrested after he left the guardhouse, sir! The Blacktunics took him."

"Where did they take him?"

"Um." Pike frowned. "I think they were going towards Silver Mine Road, sir. It'd be the closest, as they were carrying him. He got knocked out in the fight."

"Thank you, Pike," said Welch, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "Take care on your way home now. Send my love to your mother."

"Will do, cap'n," said Pike. "Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, lad." Welch watched his youngest guard head off into the city before going back inside.

Greenleaf, standing in the kitchen with his hands in the sink, had heard everything. His face was grave as his eyes met Welch's. The plate he had been washing was still held in his hands, forgotten.

"I've got to rescue him," he said.

"Are you sure?" asked Welch, sitting down. "It'll be difficult."

"There's always a chance he might tell them something I don't want them to know," said Greenleaf, "plus, he's a friend."

"You don't put much faith in your friend to keep his mouth shut then," observed Welch.

"I'm practical," shot back Greenleaf.

"I have heard rumours," admitted Welch, "of the methods they use to get answers from their prisoners."

"You mean torture?"

Welch grimaced. "Let's hope they don't break out the castor oil."

"Castor oil?" Greenleaf frowned. "Oh, I see. A laxative, isn't it?"

"Explosively so in large amounts, I believe."

Despite himself, Greenleaf pulled a face. It was not a nice image to contemplate. "I'm liking these fellows more and more."

"And then there's the method with the toad." Welch looked directly across at the Elf. "They force the victim to swallow a live one."

"Without garlic?" Greenleaf managed to quip. "That's unnecessarily cruel."

"There's more, but I don't know details." Welch paused. "Thankfully."

"For which we can all be grateful," put in Mrs Welch from the corner where she had been mixing a cake. "That's enough talk of that in my kitchen, thank you."

"Yes, dear," said Welch obediently. He turned back to Greenleaf. "So, you're planning to rescue Strider then?"

"As soon as possible."

"It'd be better to wait until dark."

"That's too long. There are too many hours until nightfall, and who knows what they will get out of him by then!"

Welch looked thoughtful. "Well," he said, "if I was them, I would leave him on his own to stew for a bit. Think about his predicament and so forth. Obviously, I'm not saying that they think like me, or I like them,, but that could gain us a few hours at least. This sort of operation will be much easier in the dark."

Greenleaf nodded. "That's true enough," he said. "What sort of help can we count on?"

Welch twitched uneasily. "Thing is," he began carefully, "I can't really get any of my guards directly involved. That's be a lot of necks on the line, including everyone in my company. I can't afford that sort of risk just for one man."

"I understand. It'll have to just be me then. Can I have any support at all?"

"I can get you there, and I'll have some of my lads nearby as well. You'll have to do most of it though. I assume you can."

"Of course." Greenleaf gave the man a humourless grin. "You could say I'm an expert. It's the sort of thing I've been doing for years."

"Good." Welch stood from his chair. "I'll see what I can do organising that. We can't do anything until twilight at least."

He went out. Greenleaf stood still at the sink, staring at the cooling water. Aragorn had been captured, and if Denethor found out his real identity, then their whole plan was sunk. The Steward would never allow a potential King to live. And Greenleaf was unsure what he feared most -Aragorn dying or having to explain to G why the mission failed. He tried not to think about the personal aspect of the problem. It wasn't professional, it really wasn't.

"Those dishes won't wash themselves, you know."

Greenleaf turned suddenly. Mrs Welch was sitting in her corner, dividing her cake mixture into two round tins and looking at him expectantly.

"Sorry," he said, "I was distracted." He turned back to the sink again and began to scrub with the ragged old cloth.

"I know." Mrs Welch walked across the kitchen to place the cake tins in the oven. She shut the door on them and came over to stand by Greenleaf, looking at him. "What's it like?"

"What?" Greenleaf looked at her, surprised.

"Being an Elf."

His forehead creased a little. "What's it like being human?"

She flushed. "Silly of me," she said, "I didn't think. I've never met an Elf before."

"It's all right," said Greenleaf, "many people are curious."

"Then forgive me for being one of the many." She smiled. "But tell me, is the name 'the Fair Folk' properly given? Are all Elves as beautiful as you?"

Greenleaf smiled too. "Oh, much more so. I am quite plain next to most, I assure you."

"That's modesty," she declared. "It must be."

Greenleaf shrugged and continued washing the crockery. Mrs Welch picked up a cloth and began drying the cleaned plates, laying them in a careful pile.

"I'm sorry," she said, "you're all worried and here's me prattling on about inconsequential nonsense."

"No, it's good," said Greenleaf, "it's better than standing around being worried, honestly."

"Well, if that's so," she said, "there's plenty of jobs need doing around here."

Greenleaf laid the last dish on the side with a flourish. "Lead on, ma'am."

GGGGGGGGG

Greenleaf and Welch were discussing final details as the sun, still mostly obscured by cloud, slowly hid itself behind the horizon. The high walls of the city meant that dark reached the streets earlier, and lamps were already lit in the house. Welch was just describing the roads and alleys around Silver Mine Road when Mrs Welch came in.

"I've just had an idea about your hair," she said, brandishing a piece of black cloth. "Hold still."

As Greenleaf obeyed, she deftly tied the headscarf around his head, covering his eartips. She tucked his long golden hair up under the cloth, hiding it completely. Standing back, she examined the effect.

"There," she said, "much better. Hoods can so easily fall off if you're running around. You just need a dirtier face and then it'll be perfect."

Greenleaf grinned and leered good-naturedly at her in a lecherous fashion. "Like this?"

She laughed. Welch mock-growled.

"Less of that round my wife, Master Elf."

"She said it," replied Greenleaf, "don't blame me."

For just that moment there was cheer in the kitchen, a shared moment of friendship between the three. It was a sudden spark of candlelight in an otherwise cold night. Outside, the oppression of Denethor's reign still continued, but inside humanity prevailed. Then it passed and the reality returned. There was a job to be done. Mrs Welch hurried into the next room, picking up a pan as she went. A banging noise followed.

"What's she doing?" asked Greenleaf.

Welch shrugged. "Don't ask me to fathom the minds of women. They're mad, the lot of them."

"True enough," agreed Greenleaf.

"I heard that." Mrs Welch came back in, her pan full of some black powder. "You just sit there," she told Greenleaf, "and don't move an inch."

He sniffed as she stood in front of him. "Soot?"

"Yes," she said. "Now just stay still or this won't work properly."

She dipped her fingers into the soot and began dabbing it carefully over his face. He, in turn, tried not to twitch, but couldn't help but wrinkle his nose as she applied the dirt around the edges of his nostrils. She gave him a warning look as he attempted to protest.

"I will be quite happy, Master Elf, to shove this soot into your open mouth if you even try to say anything."

Greenleaf, wisely, didn't try. Mrs Welch's fingers moved to his ears, blackening the crevices that could be seen. His eyebrows were darkened too, and soot was rubbed lightly to most of his skin to disguise its fairness.

"Close your eyes," instructed Mrs Welch.

He did so obediently. Cool fingers pressed gritty soot along the edges of his eyes and onto his eyelashes. He had a sudden crazy thought of feeling like a maiden being prepared for her first ball.

"There," said Mrs Welch, "all done." She stepped back.

Greenleaf opened his eyes. "May I see?" he asked. It felt odd having stuff all over his face.

"Here." She reached into an apron pocket and pulled out a small mirror.

He took it and examined his features. She had done a good job. He looked a lot less like an Elf, and more like a filthy human, rather grubby around the edges. His eyes were still a rather startling blue, but there was little he could do about that. He would just have to avoid looking anybody straight in the eye.

"It's very good," said Welch, staring at the Elf, "no one would guess. Amazing."

"It is," agreed Greenleaf. He smiled at Mrs Welch as he handed back the mirror. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," she said, smiling back, "I'm glad to help."

There was a knock, a single quiet rap on the door. Welch left the room to answer it. Greenleaf listened carefully.

"Who is it?" asked Welch.

"Wilson, cap'n."

There was the sliding sound of the bolts being pulled back and then a scrape as the door was opened.

"Everyone's ready, cap'n," said Wilson in a low voice. "The streets are plenty dark enough."

"Have you found out where he's being held?" questioned Welch.

"Ground floor cells," replied Wilson, "the one on the very corner of Silver Mine and Kings' Way."

"Not too bad. Accessible. We'll see you out there."

"Yes, sir."

The door shut quietly and Welch rejoined his wife and Greenleaf.

Did you hear all that?" he asked.

Greenleaf nodded. "Are we heading out now?"

"Yes," said Welch, "I'll take you there and point out the cell. You'll have to get inside yourself."

"You two be careful," put in Mrs Welch, "I want you two back safe and sound, with Strider as well." She put a hand on Greenleaf's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "You hear? Safe and sound."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, with every intention of obeying.

"We'll be fine, dear," said Welch, pulling her into his arms and giving her a peck on the cheek. "Don't worry about us."

"I'll stay up until you're back," she insisted. "If you start making claims like that then something's bound to go wrong."


	5. To The Rescue!

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: Sorry about the delay. I've been moving house. I'll try and be more regular in my posting from now on. Feel free to poke me occasionally. I'm still (slowly) editing the first of these with the plan of posting them on livejournal someday. If anyone knows the best communities for Legolas fic or general LOTR fic please let me know!

Chapter 5. To The Rescue!

The mud in the streets was beginning to dry as Greenleaf and Welch made their way to Silver Mine Road. The crust cracked a little in places where they walked. There was no one else around. The sky above darkened by the minute letting only a few stars peer through to watch the events unfolding. There were several clouds too, obscuring the moon most of the time. Puddles were black shadows on the ground waiting for an unwary foot. Welch strode along confidently, Greenleaf beside him.

'Act like you know what you're doing and where you're going,' he confided to the Elf in a low voice, 'no one'll look at you in case you decide to arrest them.'

'Is it only Blacktunics out at this time then?' asked Greenleaf. 'They must be feared a lot.'

'They are.' Welch's face grew hard. 'They have a lot of power, too much of it. They can arrest anyone and do anything without answering to anybody about it.'

'That's terrible.'

They walked on in silence. Their route took them along several small streets and alleys, carefully keeping in the darkness. They came, eventually, to the end of an alley with the name Whitecap Street. It opened out into a wide curving road that led from the outer wall gate to the one in the next ring of wall.

'This is the Kings' Way,' explained Welch. 'We need to cross it.'

He looked out round the edge of the building but drew back hurriedly motioning for Greenleaf to follow him into a deeper patch of shadow. Greenleaf watched the road curiously. He heard hooves on the cobblestones and the rattle of wooden wheels. A wagon with a burning torch affixed to the roof went past with a clatter. Greenleaf caught sight of a Blacktunic seated at the front driving the horse. The wagon was fully closed in with only a barred window on the side.

'That's Black Sally,' whispered Welch, 'they use her to bring in all the curfew-breakers. We used to bring in real criminals in her.'

Greenleaf said nothing, understanding the meaning behind Welch's 'real criminals'. They hurried across the King's Way almost invisible in the darkness. A left turn shortly after took them up another road and a second left brought them to Silver Mine Road. The street was fairly narrow with tall houses leaning in from the sides. Welch nudged Greenleaf on the shoulder and indicated the building at the end of the street. It was the only one with lights in the windows.

'That's the Blacktunics' guardhouse,' he said. 'Your friend is in the cell right on the end, the last window on this side. I'll be waiting here.'

Greenleaf gave him a quick, tight smile. 'Thank you,' he said. 'I am in your debt.'

'There's no need for that,' said Welch. 'I'm happy to help.'

'Nevertheless, I am grateful.'

Welch simply nodded. Greenleaf took a quick look around and made his way down the street alone. He walked in the centre of the road as he passed the main entrance to the guardhouse, avoiding the light from the doorway. The window he wanted was barred, without glass and set fairly high in the wall just above Greenleaf's head. He stood pressed against the wall for some minutes listening very carefully. A faint humming of an old Elvish tune informed him that Aragorn was in the cell and most likely alone. That was good.

Greenleaf reached up and took hold of two of the window bars. Using them as leverage he then walked his feet up the wall to end up balanced on the narrow window ledge. It was very dark inside as the only light came through a tiny grille in the door. Greenleaf, with his sharp eyesight, could just make out a figure in one corner.

'Strider!' he hissed.

The figure's head jerked and he glanced quickly over at the window.

'Who is it?' he whispered.

Greenleaf grinned. 'Who do you think?' He felt suddenly more cheerful.

The man crossed the little cell and peered up at the shadow in the window. There was not much to be seen.

'Legolas?' Aragorn asked, squinting.

'Of course.' Greenleaf reached one hand through the bars.

Aragorn raised his hand to grasp the Elf's. 'I'm glad to see you,' he said, 'I've been worried.'

'_You've_ been worried?' Greenleaf smiled again, teeth white against his soot-darkened skin. 'Well, I'm here to get you out. How are you? How have you been treated?'

'I'm not too bad,' replied Aragorn, keeping his voice low. 'They haven't paid too much attention to me yet though they've promised a parade of horrors for tomorrow. I've taken a few kicks and punches but I'm all right.'

'Good. Do you know how many guards are around?'

'Not too many actually on guard. There's only one, I think, on the corridor out there.' Aragorn indicated over his shoulder with his thumb. 'I don't think they expect anyone to even try an escape.'

'Everyone's too scared,' said Greenleaf, 'absolutely everyone. Even, I am sure, the Steward's son Faramir though he hides it well.'

'Boromir simply obeys his father. He is concerned about the East though.'

'So is Faramir. It seems that there will be trouble from there soon. There is activity there despite Sauron's demise.' Greenleaf's eyes met Aragorn's squarely. 'You must be prepared to take advantage of the situation.'

'How do you mean?'

'If the orcs attack I do not think the Steward will be capable of organising the defence. The city will look elsewhere for leadership.'

'And I should take it on?' Aragorn's voice contained definite doubt.

'It would be the ideal opportunity.' Greenleaf watched Aragorn carefully, noting the man's indecision. 'But first I need to get you out of here. You wait here until I get in and get to your door.'

'I can do little else.' Aragorn gripped Greenleaf's hand again before the Elf moved from the window. 'Be careful.'

'I'll do my best.' With a quick squeeze of his hand Greenleaf was gone.

The stonework of the guardhouse was old and decorative in its way. It provided Greenleaf with plenty of foot- and handholds as he climbed up the side of the building. There were only two storeys – two storeys above ground, at least – and he was soon on the roof. The tiles were sloped and a little slippery. Greenleaf crawled up it with the ease and grace of a cat. There was, as he had hoped, a trapdoor at the top of the roof. Around it were several cigarette ends in various stages of disintegration. This must be where the Blacktunics came for a quick smoke. It opened easily.

Greenleaf lowered himself into the hole and onto the stairs. There he paused, balanced on his toes and listening. There was conversation drifting up from below. It did not sound particularly important; it concerned only inane day-to-day topics. He crept down the wooden stairs without a sound. They ended in a dark and narrow corridor. The only light came from an open doorway halfway along. It was there that the conversation was coming from. Greenleaf peered cautiously round the edge of the door. It was a communal room of some description where the Blacktunics came to relax. There were several of them sitting on comfortable chairs – paid for from the city coffers, no doubt – chatting amiably. Several items of clothing were hanging on front of the blazing fire. It was a far cry from Welch's guardhouse. The Blacktunics clearly worked in far more comfortable circumstances.

Greenleaf slipped past the door unseen. The stairs to the ground floor were just at the end of the corridor. He sneaked down them, pausing occasionally when the wood creaked under his feet. But as his footsteps remained silent no one paid any attention to the odd creak and Greenleaf reached the bottom without challenge. There was another corridor there, lit this time with torches. Keeping the position of Aragorn's cell in his mind Greenleaf headed in that direction, away from the main door. Several cell doors lined the walls.

Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps coming in the opposite direction. Greenleaf pushed at the cell door nearest him. It opened and he slid inside gratefully. The owner of the footsteps went straight past. With the danger gone Greenleaf took a quick look around the cell as his eyes adjusted to the greater level of darkness. He had originally assumed it empty. He was wrong.

What had appeared before to be a heap of fabric he could now see was a body, hunched up around itself. A smell made itself known; the smell of blood, pain and terror. Greenleaf, drawn by some morbid interest, went over to the corpse and touched it gently. It was cold, apparently having been dead for some time. There was no way of telling whether the unfortunate victim was male or female in the limited light and Greenleaf had no desire to examine it closely enough to find out. Shackles and chains enclosed the wrists and ankles. Greenleaf stood slowly muttering an Elvish blessing as he did. With renewed purpose he left the cell and headed down the corridor.

He found Aragorn's cell easily. The man was standing at the door waiting. He grinned when he recognised the Elf.

'You look great,' he whispered. 'What's that on your face?'

'Soot,' replied Greenleaf. 'Now shh.'

He bent to examine the lock. It was old and fairly simple. He pulled out a lockpick and set to work. Within a minute the door was open. Aragorn was just leaving the cell when they both heard footsteps on the stairs. There were a lot of footsteps; quite a few people were heading their way!

Greenleaf grabbed Aragorn's arm and pulled him along the corridor to the cell where he had hidden previously. He pushed him inside.

'You hide here,' he instructed, 'don't mind the body. I'll lead them off. You wait until they've gone. Take this,' he handed Aragorn his Elven blade, 'and this,' he passed him his cloak too. 'Turn right as you go out the main door and keep going; you'll reach a right turn. Welch is waiting there. Go straight home and don't wait. I'll make my own way back.'

'But what if…'

'Just do it. Don't argue.' Greenleaf pulled the cell door almost shut behind Aragorn. 'I will get back. Trust me.' He smiled once more and then was gone.

As the guards came down the stairs he took care to be seen between the stairs and the door. They saw him, as intended, and cries of surprise rang out. He gave them a shocked look before running to the door, opening it and hurrying out. Pausing to allow his pursuers a chance to see him he then went left. Now he just had to run fast enough to make them follow but not catch him. As their boots thumped on the ground behind him he grinned. They were like dogs; chasing him because he was running.

GGG

Aragorn stood stock still in the cell very determinedly not looking around. 'Don't mind the body,' Greenleaf had said. That was just charming, that was. Aragorn also took care to breathe through his mouth. He waited until the sound of running feet had gone before moving. He slipped Greenleaf's cloak around his shoulders and clutched the Elf's knife in his hand. There was a definite possibility of some of the Blacktunics having stayed behind while the others chased the intruder.

His suspicion was confirmed when he looked out into the corridor. Two guards stood by the front door peering out into the night. He would have to get through them if he was to escape. He looked down at the knife in his hand. The metal gleamed, its edge horribly sharp. It would be so simple just to slit their throats and be done with it though at the same time such an action would be very complicated. If he was to be accepted by the people as King (and that was a very big 'if' in his opinion) then having committed murders like these would not endear him. These guards would have families and friends. They were only human with faults and weaknesses as well as strengths. He could not be their executioner.

They both had their backs to him; foolishly, as it would turn out. Aragorn sneaked down the corridor, pressed against the wall all the way. The two guards never heard him coming. They collapsed to the floor within seconds of each other landing with dull thumps. Aragorn stepped over them and went out of the door.

There was no one outside. He pulled up his hood, tucked away the knife and turned right as Greenleaf had told him to. He stayed close to the buildings, ducking under windows to avoid being seen. The moon slid out from behind the clouds occasionally but never for very long. By its light Aragorn saw Welch loitering nonchalantly in a doorway.

'Strider?' came the whispered enquiry.

'Aye,' he replied, crossing the street to stand by the guard captain.

'Where's Legolas?' asked Welch.

'He led the Blacktunics off,' explained Aragorn. 'He said to carry on home without him.' His tone conveyed his lack of confidence in that particular order.

'It makes some sense,' said Welch, 'if we linger here we're more likely to get caught. I expect he can find his own way back and there're some of my lads waiting around here. They'll see him right.'

Aragorn frowned, troubled. 'But what if he gets caught? We'll be too far away to do anything.'

'They'd place him under much heavier guard anyway. If he gets caught there's nothing we can do.' Welch touched Aragorn's shoulder gently. 'He seemed to think you were worth the risk.'

Aragorn said nothing to that though his mouth twitched a little. He took a quick glance down the road. There was nothing to be seen, only darkness.

'Come on,' said Welch.

He headed off down the road. Aragorn, after another quick look back, followed. He was still worried about his Elven friend, probably with good reason.

GGG

Greenleaf ran up Silver Mine Road, feet splashing in puddles along the way. He did not run at full speed, allowing his pursuers to stay close enough to see him. It would not help if they gave up too soon and decided to head back. He had to give Aragorn time to get away.

Throwing a look over his shoulder to ensure the Blacktunics still followed Greenleaf then turned right into a narrow road, skidding a little as he did on the muddy ground. It was even darker there and Greenleaf had to strain his eyes to see where he was going. At least one of the guards behind him carried a torch, which illuminated to an extent for them but not enough to show Greenleaf his way ahead. In a brief glow of moonlight he saw a turning to the left and took it.

It was a residential street with every door firmly shut and every window dark. Inside the people would be dutifully asleep and unaware of the chase taking place beneath their windows. The Blacktunics had not shouted out once since they began the pursuit, which made them unusual in Greenleaf's opinion. He had an idea forming that they might be a little more unpredictable than he had originally thought. But as long as he could keep ahead he should be able to get away surely.

He took another left, followed swiftly by another right then a right hand fork. He was getting deep into the darker streets of Minas Tirith; an area full of dark alleys and poky little houses. It would be too easy to get lost there despite the time he had spent beforehand studying maps of the city. Even Welch had admitted that the maps were not entirely accurate.

Greenleaf found himself becoming impressed with the Blacktunics. They were keeping up with him well though he was sure to outpace them when he put on more speed. His feet hit the ground with little sound as he ran though, in contrast to their boots' thumping. He could keep up this pace for a very long time. At that moment, however, the stakes were raised.

Hooves clattered on the cobblestones behind him; at least two horses, maybe three. It was time to lose his pursuers but there were no turnings along this particular stretch of road and the riders were gaining. He ran faster but the hoofbeats got louder, seeming to echo round the houses. Suddenly there was a left turn, looking dark and inviting, and Greenleaf took it. As soon as he did he realised his mistake. The hoofbeats weren't just echoing around; they were also coming from ahead. Oh, they were clever.

There was no question of turning back now that the other rider had entered the narrow road behind him. He ducked aside as the rider before him lunged as he rode past. The Blacktunic only managed to grasp the Elf's headscarf, which was easily yanked off. Golden hair spilled out and shone in the light of the torch held by the second rider. Greenleaf gave them no time to react but immediately shot off in the opposite direction to the riders. It was definitely time to end the chase now. Aragorn must have managed to get away by now and without cloak and scarf Greenleaf was feeling obvious and exposed. He sprinted down the street, hearing the horses galloping after him. He could see the end of the street ahead and ran harder, wanting to reach it before the mounted guards reached him. He was almost there when he noticed the figures waiting in the shadows ahead. He was trapped and had little time to act.

The house to his right had a sort of porch, a ramshackle wooden construction over the front door. With a long leap Greenleaf managed to grab and swing himself up onto it landing crouched on the top. He sprang up again from there and scrambled onto the rooftop. He intended to take a path across the roofs at a right angle to the street but found it impossible. Another street ran parallel to the one he was on; a much wider road that was far too wide to leap over. Cursing he began to run along the rooftops going back in the direction that he had come from. The two riders followed below on the street. Greenleaf side-stepped chimneys and loose tiles as he went, while maintaining his balance as well as keeping speed. At least it wasn't raining this time.

He could see the end of the street approaching and the leap he would have to take when he reached it. The guards galloped along, keeping up easily. Lengthening his strides Greenleaf prepared for the jump. Three steps left … two steps … one … and then he leapt. He was going to cover the distance!

Then a hand seized his ankle and pulled him down. One of the riders had managed to get underneath him and had reached up far enough to grab him. The houses were only single storey and Greenleaf could not leap high enough. He twisted as he fell kicking the guard who still held his foot. He was released but landed awkwardly on the cobbled street. Stunned, he could not move for a few moments. Both riders were coming in on him fast. He rolled to avoid them and pulled himself up onto his feet.

After a second's staggering he managed to begin running again but the guards who had been pursuing him on foot were directly ahead. He swerved to avoid the first of them, feinting left then going right. One of the riders came up behind him almost immediately. Greenleaf ducked but not fast enough. A hand seized his hair, yanking him from his feet and dragging him along the street. The sharp pain brought tears to the Elf's eyes as he struggled to get his feet back under him. They scraped and bumped across the cobblestones. Reaching up he jabbed the man in the side forcefully with his fingers. Greenleaf's hair was mercifully released and fell to the ground. He jumped to his feet but he was dizzy and had been dragged among the other Blacktunics. They closed in around him.

They were efficient, he would grant them that. They worked as a team to bring him down. Punches and kicks landed each with painful accuracy. Greenleaf was no lightweight when it came to holding his own in a fight and gave as good as he got but he was far outnumbered. His main problem was their skill at co-ordination. While he could knock one or two men back at a time others were always there to step in. He would have been confident of having greater endurance than them individually but not all together.

He was still faster than they were though and used this as much as possible. More than a few of the guards ended up clutching various body parts as a result of Greenleaf's defence. Eventually, though, he was driven to his knees by a direct kick to the back of his legs. As he fell hands grabbed his arms and held him down in tight grips.

Going for his last option Greenleaf opened his mouth to shout. Any form of distraction would be helpful now. But before he could make a sound a hand slapped across his mouth, snapping it shut with a jerk. His head was yanked back and an arm pressed against his throat with some firmness. As he strained to drag air in through his nose more hands grabbed his arms and legs. A torch was held directly before his face, its flames heating his skin uncomfortably. Even squinting Greenleaf could not make out the features of those who held him.

'He looks a bit funny, don't he?' one of them said. His voice was quiet and hushed.

The guard behind Greenleaf grunted and pulled his head back even further. Greenleaf's hair slipped back.

'Here! Look at his ears!'

The whispered exclamation drew all the guards' attention to Greenleaf's features. He could feel them all staring at him. Their grips all tightened as they realised what he was.

'Bloody 'ell,' one muttered eventually, ''e's an Elf.'

'Explains why he was so tricky to pin down,' said another.

Greenleaf's eyes narrowed with irritation at being talked about and not being able to respond. An attempt to bite the hand over his mouth was thwarted when the guard, sensing his intent, tightened his grip. There was a bruising pressure across his cheeks now and the arm across his throat was cutting off any air. He continued to struggle, not wanting to give in, but there were too many even for him.

'Shame Black Sally's over by Queen's Gate tonight,' said one guard. 'We could've done with her to drag him in.'

Another Blacktunic joined the circle around Greenleaf. His uniform denoted him as a sergeant and he smelled of horse. His face seemed to swirl in the heat haze above the torch, a blur to Greenleaf's eyes.

'Hear me, Elf,' the sergeant said commandingly. 'You are being arrested for curfew-breaking and illegal entry into the city.'

'Not to mention being an Elf,' added another guard.

There was general laughter. Greenleaf glared at the man who had spoken. He could just about make out the dark smudges where the men's eyes and mouths were over the torch. It was disorientating and he was forced to blink frequently to ward off the heat of the flames.

'Anything you say,' continued the sergeant, giving what Greenleaf was sure was a smirk, 'may be used in evidence.' He paused. 'Take him away, boys.'

Greenleaf tensed but was unable to prevent his head being jerked to one side. There was a heavy blow to the back of his head that sent him reeling. The light in front of his eyes span in dizzying circles as his eyelids fluttered. Another burst of pain sent him falling completely into darkness.


	6. The RedHaired Captain

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: ooh, looky, the next chapter already! Thanks as ever to Fireblade's Song, my one reviewer (and a bloody intelligent one at that).

Chapter 6. The Red-Haired Captain

A small worried group sat in Welch's kitchen. Mrs Welch sat in a rocking chair, knitting in determined fashion. Welch perched on the edge of the kitchen table. Aragorn stood in the centre of the floor, occasionally pacing to another area. He was clearly agitated; his expression was plainly distracted even in the dim candlelight. The windows were fully covered by the curtains to disguise their wakefulness from any outsiders. For what was probably the hundredth time Aragorn glanced over at the door. It remained resolutely closed. They had been waiting since Welch and Aragorn had returned from the rescue operation without Greenleaf.

Aragorn sighed again. The house remained stubbornly Elf-less. Silently he willed Greenleaf to return. He could see it in his mind's eye: the Elf entering the kitchen with an infuriating grin, asking why they bothered to wait up for him. But the image stayed only in his mind and refused to become a reality.

Mrs Welch's knitting needles clicked in rhythm. Her lips moved as she concentrated on the small garment she was making.

'Is that for out Tom and Nancy's when it comes along, dear?' asked Welch, attempting to break the tension. 'Can't be long now, I suppose.'

'It's due in three weeks,' said Mrs Welch, glad of something else to talk about. She chatted on, creating a welcome distraction. 'She wants to call it Robert if it's a boy or Martha if it's a girl. Rather nice names, I thought. Nothing too fancy.' She smiled. 'Just think: we'll be grandparents. Won't that be wonderful?'

'More screaming children to have in the house,' remarked Welch, though he did not seem that concerned. 'Can't be having with them.'

It was obviously a conversation they had had before and it died away into silence. Aragorn glanced compulsively at the door, his fingers twitching.

'He'll be all right,' he said half to himself, 'as he'd say: it's only a bunch of men.'

'They're good at what they do though,' said Welch.

'That makes me feel so much more confident.'

'They know the area very well too,' continued Welch. 'Some of them were my lads before they were recruited into the Blacktunics.'

Aragorn pulled a face and looked over at the door again, fiddling with his tunic.

'I'm just being realistic,' said Welch.

'I know.' Aragorn sighed.

Footsteps sounded outside the door. Hope sprang in Aragorn's mind even as he registered that they were too heavy to be an Elf's. There was a quiet knock on the door. Welch was already halfway there. He opened the door a crack then let in Sergeant Wilson who took off his helmet as he entered the kitchen. He gave Mrs Welch a little bow and nodded to Aragorn.

'It's bad news, I'm afraid,' he said.

'How bad?' asked Welch tersely.

'Where is he?' asked Aragorn in the same moment.

'Your Elf friend got captured by the Blacktunics,' said Wilson quickly, wanting to get it all out fast. 'We couldn't have helped him. There were too many of them.' He looked contrite. 'Sorry, sir.'

'It's not your fault,' said Welch.

'It's mine,' said Aragorn sitting down disconsolately. 'I shouldn't have let him go off on his own like that.'

'What happened?' Welch asked his sergeant, ignoring Aragorn's self pity.

'Well, he led 'em a merry chase, sir. Down Smiths' Way and into Farrier Street and all along the rooftops of Willow Street.' Wilson chuckled. 'He's light-footed, ain't he? Right nimble on his pins. But they had a couple of men on horses, didn't they, and not with an Elf can outrun a horse. They knocked him out and carried him off on one of the horses. They took him back to Silver Mine Road.'

Aragorn leapt to his feet. 'Then what are we waiting for?' he asked. 'We need to get him out. There's no telling what they'll do to him!'

'Sit down, lad,' said Welch gently, 'there won't be getting anywhere near him now.'

'That's true,' said Wilson, 'Jones was down by their guardhouse when they brought him in. Their sergeant was orderin' them to put him under heavy guard. He won't be easy to get to. Sorry, mate, but that's how it is.'

Aragorn frowned but said nothing more.

'I'm sure Mrs Wilson'll be expecting you back home,' said Welch. 'Thank you, Arthur.'

'Anything for you, cap'n,' said Wilson, 'you know you just have to ask.'

'Give my love to Emmie,' put in Mrs Welch, 'and tell her I've still got that recipe I promised her.'

'Will do. Goodnight all. Sorry about your friend.'

When the front door had shut behind the sergeant Welch sat himself down in one of the kitchen chairs. Aragorn did the same somewhat unwillingly.

'So,' said Welch, 'there remains the question of what we should do next.' He took out his pipe and began stuffing it carefully with tobacco. 'I presume you'll be continuing with your mission.'

'Um, I suppose so,' said Aragorn.

Welch took pity on the ranger who was obviously distracted by his friend's capture. 'Let's see now,' he said, lighting his pipe, 'your task is to replace the Steward. You said that you knew where the rightful King was.' His eyes met the other man's.

Aragorn stared back, realisation dawning. Welch knew or at least had guessed some of it.

'Will you tell us?' asked Welch. 'In case the worst happens.'

Aragorn sighed. 'All right, it's me. My true name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. But you'd already guessed that, hadn't you?'

Welch smiled.

'We're very honoured, I'm sure, your majesty,' said Mrs Welch.

'Don't call me that,' said Aragorn, 'please. Definitely not yet.'

'Hmm.' Welch blew out a long stream of smoke with slow deliberation. 'Well, we need to have some idea of what we should do. Did Legolas tell you anything earlier?'

'He mentioned the trouble in the East,' said Aragorn, 'and said that I should "be prepared to take advantage of the situation". He seemed to think that an attack is imminent.' He frowned. 'He mentioned something about the Steward's son, Faramir, but I didn't have time to follow that up with him.'

'He said he'd met him,' said Welch, 'it seems we may have an unwilling sort of ally though not one we can particularly rely on.' He stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'If there is an attack on the city – particularly if it's well organised – I'm not sure if the guards will be in a particular state to properly defend the city. We're down on strength with so many being taken away.'

'I don't see how any attack would be very well organised,' interjected Aragorn, 'their leader is dead.'

'Even so,' said Welch. 'Those in command here will be too frightened to give proper orders – there's too much fear of reprisals for mistakes. Faramir has it in him to be a good leader but he's too restricted by his father. The best thing to do would be for you to take control.'

A long pause followed this statement.

'It would help the people to accept you,' said Mrs Welch, 'to see you coming to aid your city in its time of need. People need a hero; you can use that. Ride up on a grand horse with that magnificent sword of yours. It'll work, I'm sure.'

'A wonderful idea, dear,' said Welch, 'a very good bit of thinking.'

'It sounds a little cold,' said Aragorn, 'and staged. But if you think it will work…'

'There's only one problem,' said Welch. 'What about a horse?'

'Are there none in the city?'

'None to impress outside those in the Blacktunics' keeping. Either they're too skinny or they've been eaten, what with meat being scarce.'

Aragorn smiled a little. 'I can help there. Our horses – Hasufel and Arod – were left outside the city when we arrived. They'll come when called.'

'Perfect,' said Welch, 'we'll go out for them tomorrow night.'

'But what are we going to do about Legolas?' asked Aragorn.

Welch sighed. 'I'm afraid there's not much to be done. It's a waiting game now. Waiting for trouble from the East and waiting to see what the Steward decides about the Elf.'

GGG

'You're late, Faramir.'

'I'm sorry, father. I was busy when I received your message.'

'See it does not happen again.'

'Yes, father.'

Faramir rose from his knees before his father and stood beside his brother Boromir. Denethor sat in his chair looking straight at his sons.

'What did you wish to speak to us about, father?' asked Boromir.

'I want to ask your opinions on my latest prisoner,' said Denethor, 'the Elf.'

'An Elf?' asked Faramir in surprise.

'What would an Elf be doing in Minas Tirith?' wondered Boromir. 'We are a long way from any Elf-homes.'

'We have yet to ask him his purpose here,' said Denethor, 'as of this morning he had not regained consciousness. But his reason for being here is unlikely to be a good one.'

'How do you know that?' asked Faramir, ignoring his brother's warning hand on his arm. 'Surely you cannot expect malice from one of the Fair Folk!'

'The "Fair Folk"?' Denethor sneered. 'Faramir, you have fanciful notions of these creatures brought about, no doubt, by your incessant reading of books. You see these pointy-eared freaks through the medium of fairy tales. They wrote those books. It's what they want you to believe about them.'

Faramir scowled a little but said nothing more. He knew from bitter experience that nothing he could say would ever change his father's mind on anything save perhaps to make it more set in the other direction. At least Denethor pretended to listen to Boromir's opinions even if he did not follow them. Boromir seldom said anything against his father anyway.

'His presence here has to be significant. And why would he be here? It must be some plot.'

'Was he alone?' asked Boromir.

'No,' replied Denethor, 'he has an accomplice; a man whom he was rescuing from the cells when he himself was captured. The man is still on the loose.' Denethor turned to glare at his younger son. 'Those guards are under your command, Faramir. No wonder they are such a slapdash, lazy lot.'

Faramir said nothing. He realised that the Elf must have been the one he had been talking to the previous day. Some of the things Greenleaf had said came back to him – most notably those about his father being wrong. It seemed difficult to believe and yet true at the same time.

'So what are your plans?' asked Boromir.

'He shall be interrogated. We shall find out his plans and the whereabouts of his accomplice.'

Faramir knew better than to question this. There was no point in protesting the cruelty of it. Nothing would be changed, particularly not Denethor's mind.

'Captain Grant!' barked Denethor suddenly.

One of the guards – a Blacktunic – stepped away from the wall and saluted smartly.

'You will take charge of the interrogation of the prisoner,' instructed Denethor, 'and you will take your orders only from me. Use whatever methods you deem necessary to extract the required information. I want him ready and willing to confess in trial. Understand?'

'All understood, your Lordship.'

Captain Grant smiled, showing all his teeth. It was chilling. Faramir suddenly pitied the Elf.

GGG

Greenleaf stared around his cell. Fairly standard, he decided. Four stone walls, one locked door and very little light. He rubbed the back of his head and leaned against the wall he sat by. It was damp in the cell and smelt rather unpleasant.

He ran through his mental checklist. Weapons: he had only taken his knife and had given it to Aragorn, not intending to get captured himself. So, no weapons. His tunic was also gone. Injuries: a probable beauty of a bruise forming on the back of his head where he had been knocked out and a few others as well. Not too bad; he had suffered much worse. Captors: the Blacktunics, Denethor's special guards. As far as Gondor was concerned he was an illegal intruder and needed to be detained. Possible help: provided Aragorn managed to escape pursuit then he could tell Welch and they could … well, probably not do much. The Blacktunics would be much more careful about their security now that one prisoner had escaped.

There was a click at the door. Greenleaf leapt to his feet and automatically went to a ready stance as the door opened.

There was a torch on the other side of the door, held aloft by a guard. Greenleaf squinted, unprepared for the sudden light. In that moment three men entered the cell and slammed the door behind them. Greenleaf stood straight and tall where he was, not giving them the satisfaction of him retreating.

'Please sit down,' said one man, coolly and without discernible emotion.

'Do you mind if I stand?' said Greenleaf, not wanting to give them an inch.

'Yes,' said the man, 'I do mind.'

The other two men came forward. They were big, burly and without charm. Each grabbed one of Greenleaf's shoulders and forced him into the chair that stood in the centre of the room. Pushing his feet down Greenleaf realised that the chair was bolted to the floor. That could not be a good sign as to what would happen next.

'Now,' said the first man, 'we have a few questions for you. Ones that require answers.'

'May I have the pleasure of knowing who is asking?' asked Greenleaf politely.

There was a pause. The man stared at Greenleaf with a gauging look. His pale blue eyes were as frigid as a night spent on a bare mountainside. The thin mouth twitched once before opening to voice the answer.

'I am Captain Grant of the Blacktunics. Who are you?'

Greenleaf smiled. 'A visitor to your fine city,' he replied.

'Not the right answer,' said Captain Grant.

The flickering golden light from the torch, now held in a bracket on the wall, illuminated the reddish curls on the captain's head. They were tightly coiled and trailed down the nape of his neck to creep under the neck of his tunic. Greenleaf began to feel that there was something bestial about this man, something animalistic. The wide nose had a crook in it and the mouth looked as if it rarely smiled, except perhaps at someone else's pain. There was a well-muscled and quite massive physique underneath the drab uniform. The collar of the tunic was definitely a little strained around the neck muscles. His eyes never left Greenleaf for a second. The blue intensity of his gaze was fierce and cruel as it contemplated the Elf.

'I asked for your name,' he said, teeth flashing whitely from behind pink lips.

'Not in so many words,' said Greenleaf. He was being perverse and he knew it. He would not give these people an inch if he could help it. He would tell them nothing that they wanted to know. Nothing of Aragorn or their plans. His own name, though, did not matter so much; no one here would recognise it as being of any significance. And it might keep this unnervingly placid captain happy for a moment.

'But since you ask,' he continued, 'it's Greenleaf. Legolas Greenleaf.'

He could see Grant turning the name over in his head analysing each syllable. The beastlike, almost reptilian head turned a little though his eyes never moved.

'I want you to talk to me, Legolas,' he said slowly. 'I want you to tell me everything you can.' His voice was soft but with harsh inflections. 'I will ask questions and you will answer them. Understood?'

'What will my incentive be?' asked Greenleaf, wanting to know where he stood or, rather, sat.

Grant sighed. 'If you are unco-operative I will be forced to ask these two gentlemen,' he indicated the two men who still held Greenleaf's shoulders, 'to beat you rather painfully. And I, of course, would have to join them in this. As enjoyable as that would be we can make this much easier on you. Just answer a few simple questions for me. It is child's play, you see?'

The look in the captain's eyes seemed to hint that he would quite enjoy causing the Elf pain. Greenleaf read the hint with a little trepidation. He said nothing, though, and stared back at the man calmly.

'Now,' said Grant, 'tell me, Legolas. What are you doing in the city? What conspiracies are you plotting?'

Greenleaf wondered, just for a moment, whether Grant actually knew any of the reason why he was there. Would Aragorn have said anything to them? He decided not. It was probably a standard question put to all captured foreigners. The idea that anyone not from Gondor was involved in plotting against the city was a chilling one. What could instil that sort of belief?

'I am simply visiting the city,' answered Greenleaf, 'though I musts say that your hospitality has degenerated of late.'

Grant leaned forwards and rested his hands on the chair arms. His face, devoid of all emotion, was scant inches from Greenleaf's. His eyes never even blinked once as he tried to stare the Elf down.

'You lie,' he said coldly, 'with black, treacherous lies.'

Greenleaf smiled sweetly and took advantage of Grant's position. He brought his leg up and slammed it into the man's groin. As Grant doubled over Greenleaf elbowed the other two men in their stomachs. They let go and he leapt, kicking Grant again as the man attempted to rise. Placing his hands on Grant's back Greenleaf vaulted over him and ran for the door. He pulled at it but it would not open. He yanked harder but it still would not budge.

Hands seized him from behind and dragged him back into the chair. He fought and kicked but there were three of them and they were not averse to using blows to subdue him. Ropes were produced from somewhere and soon his hands and feet were bound to the metal chair. Grant stood in front of him. He raised his hand and smacked Greenleaf across the face. It was a hard blow. Blinking, Greenleaf felt blood trickle from his nose.

'That was foolish, Legolas,' said Grant coolly. 'Did you really think that we wouldn't lock the door?' He shook his head slowly. 'Very foolish.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of brass knuckles. He slid them over his fingers calmly watching Greenleaf as he did. 'I want a confession. You are clearly already guilty of helping a prisoner escape. The more you confess to the better it will be for you.'

Greenleaf's eyes narrowed. 'You want me to confess to a pack of lies.'

'Of course not,' said Grant, 'all the citizens out there will know it is all true. They know that all foreigners are plotting traitors.'

'Nevertheless,' said Greenleaf, cocking an eyebrow, 'you want me to lie.' His face was throbbing and his cheek felt almost numb.

'We will go easier on you if you confess.'

Torchlight gleamed on brass.

Greenleaf let out a short laugh. 'Until the time comes for me to be judged for my supposed crimes, I suppose. Then it'll be the more crimes the more punishment, won't it? Do I even get a trial?'

'Of course you do, Legolas,' said Grant, stepping closer. 'Justice has to be seen to be done. You will be tried.'

'And found guilty, I don't doubt, no matter what I say.'

Grant gently touched Greenleaf's cheek with the back of his hand. The brass knuckles were cold against the Elf's skin. They stroked down the path of his scar and slid caressingly under his chin. With a sudden jerk the man pushed Greenleaf's head up so the Elf was looking directly up at him.

'By then, Legolas, you will be begging to confess,' promised Grant coldly. 'You may as well begin now.'

Greenleaf met his gaze. 'I do not feel inclined to,' he announced. 'I was always brought up to be truthful.'

Grant's hand left Greenleaf's chin and, with a sudden and unexpected turn of speed, punched the Elf in the stomach and knocked the wind out of him. Greenleaf gasped for breath, his body bowed over. The man did not stop there. His face impassive he pounded into Greenleaf with his fists, showing absolutely no mercy. Greenleaf, bound to the chair, could do nothing. It was disquieting how Grant's expression did not change though his cold eyes seemed to light up behind half-closed sandy eyelashes. His tightly-folded fists punched again and again. Greenleaf jerked against his bonds but could not avoid any of the blows. He had no time to recover from one before another hit.

Eventually Grant stepped back, blood staining his hands. In the torchlight the liquid looked black. He wiped the slight sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. A smear of blood ended up spread in a line of warpaint across his face. The shadows that flickered across his features transformed him into some demon from the darkest reaches of the night.

He looked down at Greenleaf. The Elf was slumped on the chair, his breathing fast and more than a little pained. He stared at the floor trying to will away the throbbing pain in his body. It wasn't working very well.

'Now, Legolas,' said Grant. 'Are you ready to begin your confession yet?'

Greenleaf raised his head ignoring the interesting blackening effect it had on his vision. 'Nothing to confess,' he said a little thickly. 'Was that the answer you were looking for?' He squinted at Grant. 'No, probably not,' he concluded.

'You will be ready to confess,' promised Grant softly, 'you will. We'll let you think about that for a while. Do make yourself comfortable.'

He and his two pet thugs left the cell. They took the torch with them leaving Greenleaf in darkness. He let his head drop to his chest. If that was how they treated their prisoners then it was not surprising there was such fear in the city. They seemed quite determined to force a confession out of him with no compunction as to the methods they used to get it.

Captain Grant seemed an interesting character if not a particularly pleasant one. He had cold eyes that only lit up when he was causing pain. Greenleaf had met many like him in his long career but Grant definitely gave him the creeps. He was not looking forward to their next meeting.

GGG

Some distance away from where Greenleaf was sitting in his cell, somewhere over the mountains, a meeting was taking place. Not a meeting of equals, that much was obvious. Orcish underlings listened carefully to their leader with their ugly faces arranged in attitudes of servitude.

'The City grows weaker under its current Steward. Our time to strike is almost … hah … at hand. It will not be long now before Minas Tirith is under our control. And after we take Minas Tirith we are in a much stronger position to turn our attention to the rest of Middle-earth.'

'The plans of our late master will be carried out!' announced one orc, waving a fist. 'The Eye will glare out over the entire land!'

'Indeed.' A pause followed. 'But we must be organised. How go the preparations for battle?'

'Very well.' The speaker was a heavily scarred orc who sat in the corner. 'We are almost ready for the assault and, as you requested, secrecy has been paramount.'

'Good. Most satisfactory.'

A crow cawed outside the window. It flapped past with quick, raggedy wingbeats.

'Interesting.' Their leader looked thoughtful. 'My spies inform me that there will be an important event occurring in the city quite soon. The people will be distracted. The guards will be concentrated elsewhere than the city walls. That is the time we will strike. It is the perfect opportunity.' A grin crossed the figure's countenance. 'Lieutenants! Prepare your troops for war!'


	7. We Can Tell People'

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: not much to say. Thanks to lostheart480 for adding this to your alerts. It's nice to know someone's reading.

Chapter 7. 'We Can Tell People'

A day later Aragorn and Welch were back in the kitchen and sitting at the table. So far they had heard nothing about Greenleaf save that the Steward planned to place him on trial at some unspecified time. Mrs Welch had grown impatient with the pair of them and sent them into the kitchen out of her way. She was busy cleaning the house and had waved aside any offers of help.

'I've arranged for both of us to be on duty in the Steward's hall for the rest of the week,' said Welch. 'That way we should be able to be there when they put Legolas on trial or at least find out when it will be.'

'Can we rescue him then?' asked Aragorn. 'I'm worried, no, terrified they'll kill him given the chance.'

'We'll get him out before it comes to that,' Welch assured him, 'but we'll have to see how it goes and play it by ear.'

Aragorn frowned. 'They could be doing anything to him. I don't like the waiting one bit.'

'Nor do I.' Welch sighed. 'But what else…'

He was interrupted by a knocking at the door. Mrs Welch went to answer it, taking her time as she did.

'Here, into the broom cupboard,' ordered Welch, opening a door and pushing Aragorn inside. 'Keep quiet.'

The cupboard was, predictably, dark and smelt a little odd. Aragorn managed to find a spot to stand without knocking it over or putting his foot in anything. He listened carefully as the visitor was ushered into the kitchen. As soon as he started speaking Aragorn recognised him as Corporal Jones, a guard he had met at the guardhouse.

'I've had a report from Jackson,' Jones said.

'How is he?' asked Welch.

'Well enough,' said Jones, 'but there's bad news. Orcs are gathering at Minas Morgul.'

'Gathering for an attack?'

'It would appear so, captain. He said they looked organised and were carrying banners and everything.'

'Banners?' Welch sounded thoughtful. 'What symbol did they have?'

'Jackson reckoned it was a hook, sir.'

'A hook? Interesting. Thank you, Jones. Go safe on your way home now.'

'Will do. Good day, captain, ma'am.'

Aragorn heard him leave. A minute later Welch opened the cupboard door.

'I'm sure you heard all that,' he said.

'I did,' said Aragorn. 'What can we do? I presume the Steward has contingencies in place for this situation.'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' replied Welch. 'For all his convictions of a threat from the East he's more concerned about the threat from within. And now, according to what I've heard from my lads posted in the hall, he's obsessed with making an example of your Elven friend.'

'Poor Legolas.' Aragorn snorted. 'He'd hate me saying that. So you're saying that until he is satisfied that something's been done about Legolas Denethor won't pay any attention to the defence of the city?'

'Precisely. And without orders from above we can't defend it properly ourselves. Anyone trying to give orders would very quickly find themselves in his bad books.' Welch looked down at his hands. 'The best thing to do would be to try and get Legolas's trial over and done with before the orcs attack. We can always rescue him after.'

'Provided they don't execute him or something straight away.'

'Denethor would want to make it a big public spectacle.'

Aragorn winced. 'Oh, that's horrible.'

'But people would turn up to watch.'

Aragorn shook his head. 'Leaving that thought for a moment how would we do anything about getting the trial over with? I suppose we need it to be as soon as possible but I have no idea how to achieve that.'

Welch grinned. 'We can tell people,' he said.

'Tell them what?' asked Aragorn frowning.

'About the Elf that the Steward has in captivity. The one accused of all sorts of heinous deeds who should be put on trial as soon as possible.'

'What we should just go out into the street and tell them?'

'No, no. We start rumours. You'll see, the people out there'll do most of the work for us. And as for starting it off, well, my good lady wife's an excellent gossip.'

'I heard that!' called Mrs Welch from the other room.

'It was meant as a compliment, dear!' Welch turned back to Aragorn. 'By tomorrow that rumour'll be everywhere and no one'll know where it began.'

GGG

'Where did this rumour come from?' demanded the Steward.

'We do not know, father,' replied Boromir. 'There was no one about on the night the Elf was captured except the Blacktunics. So unless one of them has been talking…'

'There's still the question of the man,' interrupted Denethor, 'the one who escaped. Faramir, have you discovered where he is yet?'

'Not yet, father,' replied Faramir. Truth be told, he had not been looking very hard.

'That's not good enough,' snapped Denethor.

Faramir bit his lip. He was usually the one to bear his father's disdain but it still hit hard every time.

'The people may grow restless if the rumours continue,' said Boromir, distracting the attention from his brother. 'We cannot stop people from talking.'

Denethor scratched at his chin, thinking. 'Then we shall have the Elf's trial sooner. Two days. See to it.'

'Yes, father.'

Boromir left the hall. Faramir hurried after him. Neither of them spoke until they were alone in a small room some way from the hall.

'Is this a good idea?' asked Faramir.

'It's the best we can do, little brother,' replied Boromir. 'There's trouble coming. We need to get this nuisance of a trial out of the way.'

'The Elf's been saying that Sauron is dead.'

'Has he?' Boromir eyed his younger brother. 'That's the first I've heard of it. Nevertheless, there's something happening over in the East. I have men over there and they have seen it for themselves.'

'We could probably do with his help rather than putting him on trial. Aren't all Elves supposed to be great warriors?'

Boromir laughed. 'Great warriors or great pacifists, I have heard. But you are right; this one looks like a fighter. Perhaps if we had met him under different circumstances…'

'Do you think father will have him killed?'

Boromir looked at his little brother again. 'Possibly. He'd better hope his friends will help him.'

'Could we …?'

'No.' Boromir sighed. 'We are the sons of the Steward. We can't. It wouldn't be done.'

'But I'm beginning to think …' Faramir looked worried. 'I'm beginning to think that father is wrong. Maybe even paranoid.'

'There's nothing we can do. Those are treasonous words and you know it. Do not talk of it anymore.'

GGG

'So, Legolas, have you decided what to tell me yet?'

Greenleaf, still tied to his chair, looked up at the man who stood over him. Captain Grant, his shirtsleeves rolled up, was smiling pleasantly. On him it looked wolfish.

'I've decided,' said the Elf clearly, 'to tell you that you are a fool. Satisfied?'

The punch he received in reply implied that Grant was not. The guard captain turned away from Greenleaf, shaking his head.

'Oh, Legolas, Legolas,' he said, 'what am I going to do with you?'

'I'm sure you have some ideas,' retorted Greenleaf testily.

He was beginning to get irritable. He was unsure of how long he had been there but it had to have been at least two or three days by now. At random intervals during that time his solitude had been interrupted by a guard entering his cell and either demanding that he confess or just beating him up. He understood what they were doing, of course. Sleep deprivation was a very effective form of torture. After several days without sleep the human mind would break down and they would more often than not give in to their torturer. Greenleaf was no human but the treatment was beginning to wear on him.

'Won't it be that much better when you've got it off your chest?' wheedled Grant. 'We can stop this silly charade and get on with things. Don't you want to see the sky again, Legolas?'

'All in good time,' said Greenleaf, feigning indifference. Truth was he was feeling stifled within the stone walls but he would never tell this copper-haired captain with the ice-cold eyes. Greenleaf would show no weakness to him no matter what.

'What a pity,' said Grant. 'You seem, Legolas, to be being very stubborn today. And I had so hoped that you would have seen some sense by now. It'll be much easier on you when you do, that I can promise.'

'Oh, captain,' said Legolas with a mock-flirting tone designed to infuriate, 'I bet you tell all the others that.'

'Oh no,' Grant responded, 'you're the only one for me at the moment, Legolas. My own special project. And I will break you. Tell me now and you'll find it much easier on yourself. Just make that little confession and all this nastiness will go away.'

Greenleaf forced himself to smile. 'I don't believe you.'

Grant brought his face right up nose to nose with Greenleaf's. 'So you'd rather do this the hard way.'

Greenleaf wrinkled his nose. Grant's breath smelt slightly rotten, as if he never washed his teeth. He probably didn't. The man's cold eyes were staring straight into the Elf's own and Greenleaf stared straight back. He could outstare the best any man could offer and true to expectation Grant looked away after a few minutes. Instead he grabbed Greenleaf's hair and dragged his head forward until the Elf found himself directly facing the man's belt buckle. He grunted at the sudden yank on his hair and the awkward change in position.

'It won't help,' he offered, 'I haven't got anything to tell you.' He lied without compunction.

'I think you'll find that you have quite soon, Legolas.' Grant laid his other hand on the back of Greenleaf's neck. 'Don't you feel how vulnerable you are?'

His fingers were cold and chilly against Greenleaf's bare skin. The Elf had to repress a shudder as the fingers pushed their way slowly down his back scraping against each vertebrae. Grant had strong hands and the pressure he exerted was painful, digging into the fair skin and leaving red marks.

'Oh, I don't feel particularly worried,' said Greenleaf as nonchalantly as he could while bent over as he was. 'I've been in far less pleasant situations with far more vicious people than you. Sorry, but it's true.'

'Your cockiness will be undone,' warned Grant, 'you mark my words.' His hand continued its exploration of Greenleaf's back. 'I could do anything to you. I could dig through your skin and rip out your vertebrae one by one. Not only will it hurt more than anything you've ever felt but you will never be able to walk again. I've done it to people before and believe me they've been more than ready to confess after that, screaming in agony as they were.'

Greenleaf was glad that Grant could not see his face at that point. The description and the cool way in which it was delivered truly frightened him. Goosepimples rose on Greenleaf's skin and for the first time he felt the chill of the room.

'What have we here?' said Grant suddenly, his hand pausing partway down Greenleaf's back. It rubbed across the rough patch of skin there. The man, still pressing the Elf's head down, moved around the chair to examine what he had found.

Greenleaf tried not to let his worry show. His breath was already restricted from being bent over and he fought to keep it even. He would not allow Grant to know how he was having an effect. Greenleaf knew what Grant had found on his back and dreaded the conclusion that the man would ultimately draw to.

'This is an interesting scar you have, Legolas.'

Grant's finger traced its outline. Greenleaf tensed involuntarily. He still hated anyone touching that scar; it brought back all the memories of the pain he had suffered at the time it was inflicted. The scar on his cheek began to itch in sympathy. His eyes fluttered closed briefly as he unwittingly remembered that night.

'It is a very interesting shape,' continued Grant, noting the effect that he was having on his victim. 'A rather familiar insignia.'

An echo sounded in Greenleaf's mind; that of the rattle of laughter. He had nights sometimes when he heard that incessantly invading his sleep with horrid memories. Suddenly the cell, tiny and dark as it was, seemed much smaller. Claustrophobia clawed at Greenleaf, raising his heartbeat and creating the urge to get up and run as fast as he could from the room – though that was impossible, which only panicked him more. He was sweating though his body had begun to shiver.

'Saruman is your master, is he not?'

Grant's breath was against Greenleaf's cheek. The Elf was not listening. He was staring blankly at the floor, distracted by the darkness clouding in on him with all its accompanying memories.

'Is he not?' snapped Grant again. He yanked Greenleaf's hair violently. 'You answer to Saruman himself!'

'No!' protested Greenleaf. 'Saruman is dead!'

'And you would know, being his lackey.'

'I am not! I have always been his enemy!'

'Then how did you come by this?' Grant slapped Greenleaf's back directly on the scar. 'Don't tell me that was merely an accident!'

'It was not exactly something I asked for,' said Greenleaf bitingly. 'It was his idea of a joke when I was his captive last year in Mordor.'

'You lie,' said Grant. His finger traced the scar over and over. 'He marked you because you work for him. He has branded you as he brands his orcs!'

'No!' Greenleaf was angry at the way Grant was obviously ignoring his explanations and at the way Grant kept touching him, dragging it all back to that damned scar. He knew that the man would not listen to him, of course. He knew that. But it was infuriating. 'It is you who lie. Why would an Elf like me work for an evil wizard like him?'

'How should I know the convolutions of the twisted mind of an Elf?' retorted Grant. 'You cheat and lie with ease. I can trust nothing you say.'

'Then why are you questioning me if you will not hear my answer?'

'Because sooner or later, Legolas, you will tell me the truth. I will make sure of it.'

Grant released Greenleaf's neck, pulling the Elf to sit upright again by his hair. Greenleaf glared at the man. Grant turned his back and walked away a little. Narrow and angry blue eyes followed the man's movements.

'I am telling the truth,' said Greenleaf slowly, 'but you are either too blind or ignorant to see it.' He met Grant's eyes as the man turned. 'So what are you going to do, captain?' He emphasised the title with some sarcasm. 'Beat the hell out of me until I beg to confess? I hate to disappoint you but it will never work.'

'Again with your pathetic bravado,' Grant sneered, 'thinking you know what I'm planning.'

'You mean you've got something more sophisticated than two hairy arms up those sleeves?' asked Greenleaf mockingly.

'I don't need anything more than that.'

Grant placed his hands on Greenleaf's shoulders. His relaxed shoulders belied the tight grip of his hands. Greenleaf glared back at him. He knew that there was another beating coming up in no short amount of time and he was helpless to avoid it. He was not disappointed. It hurt but he took it.

After, when he was spitting out blood and trying to open his swelling left eye, Greenleaf looked across at Grant. The man was smiling slightly as he examined his knuckles in the torchlight. He turned to fix his gaze on the Elf, blue eyes meeting blue eyes.

'If you tell me things in the first place then I wouldn't have to hurt you, Legolas.' He smiled beatifically.

'Oh really,' said Greenleaf bitterly. 'Why don't you just admit that you enjoy it, you sick bastard?'

'It's just to make you a better person.'

'Why do you want a confession?' demanded Greenleaf, sitting as straight as he could manage. 'If you're so worried about me being in the city why not just lock me up and be done with it? Why do you insist on asking me all these ridiculous questions?'

There was a pause. Grant smiled.

'Steward's orders,' he said. 'You're to go on trial tomorrow. We have a busy night ahead of us.'


	8. The Trial of Legolas Greenleaf

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Chapter 8. The Trial of Legolas Greenleaf.

Greenleaf was marched through the corridors of the Silver Mine Road guardhouse with two huge guards at his sides. His cell door had been thrown open a few minutes earlier and the guards had entered. They had unbound him, given him his clothes and instructed him to dress before escorting him out of the cell.

It was quiet in the guardhouse. Even the prisoners in the other cells were silent and watching through the grilles on their doors. There was anticipation in the air and morbid curiosity. Greenleaf felt their eyes on him as he went by. The route he was being taken on seemed inordinately long, taking in many twists and turns. It seemed to Greenleaf that they were parading him probably as a warning to others.

Finally they reached the hallway where Captain Grant stood waiting. Greenleaf was brought to a stop before him, held in place by the guard's hands on his shoulders.

'Good morning, Legolas.'

'Is it?' asked Greenleaf. 'I hadn't noticed.'

Grant frowned. 'It would do you well not to display such cheek today during your trial.'

Greenleaf gave him a humourless smile. 'Well, begin as I'm going to be found guilty anyway…'

'It seems that you still have not learned your lesson,' said Grant with a sigh. 'We still have time.'

He beckoned to a guard who stood in a corner. The man came over with chains in his hands. Greenleaf eyed them and instinctively drew his hands back. His escorts grabbed his arms and pulled them forwards, holding them up for Grant. He fastened the manacles round Greenleaf's wrists with sharp clicks. The chain was passed around Greenleaf's body and locked in front of him so his arms were pinned to his sides. He stared at Grant coldly while all this was done. The man's eyes were equally cold in return.

'Can't have you escaping now, can we?' he said with a hint of a smile. 'One final touch.'

He nodded to someone behind Greenleaf, who began to turn his head but before he could a bag was dragged over it cutting out his vision.

'It seems a shame to cover that pretty face of yours,' said Grant, his voice now sounding a little muffled to Greenleaf's ears, 'but necessary nonetheless.'

'Oh, such compliments,' commented Greenleaf sarcastically, 'you know how to turn an Elf's head. I bet you say it to all the men.' He paused, and then continued in a mutter. 'It certainly wouldn't work on the women.'

There was no response. Greenleaf's arms were seized again and he was pulled forward. He heard the door open and then he was out in the cold air. He couldn't see what time of day it was thanks to the thick black bag over his head but the chill and quiet gave him the impression of early morning. That would make sense if they were expecting if they were expecting the trial to last sometime though how long it would take to look at him and say guilty he didn't know.

He stumbled a little on the cobblestones at first, unable to see where to put his feet. They had not gone far, just a few steps, when he was stopped then pushed upwards roughly. His shins scraped the edge of a step, which he managed to get a foot on. Hands seized and pulled him from above. He was dragged up onto what felt like a wooden floor then pushed to sit on what he assumed was a bench. There was a slamming noise and then a sudden jerk as the floor moved. Greenleaf instinctively braced his feet apart. Sounds from outside made him realise that he was in some kind of horse-drawn vehicle; probably the wagon that Welch had pointed out to him as 'Black Sally' a few days ago. It rattled and wobbled as it went along.

Greenleaf scowled behind his hood. The front of it was becoming damp with the moisture of his breathing and was quite uncomfortable. He could see absolutely nothing, which left him at a distinct disadvantage to whoever else was in there with him. He felt two men either side of him, at least, keeping him in place.

'So, Legolas, let us go over this for the final time.' Grant's voice came from opposite Greenleaf. 'You will confess your guilt to everything we put to you. It will end up better for you if you do.'

'Oh, is that right?' Greenleaf's voice was caustic, forcing his sarcasm through the thick material that cloaked his face. He was, to say the least, irritated by his treatment so far and the prospect of what was to happen next. 'And I suppose you know my sentence in advance as well.'

'I wouldn't like to take all the element of surprise out of the day for you, Legolas.'

Greenleaf could hear the smirk in his voice and glowered angrily behind his hood. He felt frustrated; he was chained and bound and trapped in a wagon with a psychopath. A uniformed and powerful psychopath who had full authority behind him. Greenleaf did not doubt that death featured in his sentence fairly heavily. The thought made his stomach clench with fear. Fear: that was unusual for him, he was sure. Probably something to do with the sleep deprivation and the way the situation was so stacked against him. He was alone in a city where everyone…

Alone? Where had that come from? He wasn't alone; he had Aragorn and Welch and the others. What had made him say he was alone? Maybe because he had been denying them to Grant for the last … how long was it? He didn't know. It was all rather dark and confusing to think about.

There was a sigh from Grant. Greenleaf had heard many of these sighs over the past few days. They were affected I've-done-my-best sighs; ones that Greenleaf did not believe to be sincere in the slightest.

'Well, Legolas, we still have time for a brief lesson. Gentlemen, if you please.'

Greenleaf tensed, knowing far too well what a 'lesson' entailed. He bit his lip as the punches began.

They only stopped when the wagon arrived at its destination with a jerk. Greenleaf was manhandled out and dragged inside what he assumed would be the Steward's hall. He could hear the crowd gathered outside and heard them gasp and mutter among themselves at the appearance of the 'accused'. Greenleaf had to rely on the two men holding him as they pulled him through the crowd. His body was still reeling from the beating. He was pulled roughly to a stop.

'Showtime, Legolas,' said Grant from directly behind the Elf.

The hood was yanked off and Greenleaf was pushed blinking into the Steward's hall.

GGG

Aragorn and Welch had arrived sometime earlier than Greenleaf. Along with Sergeant Wilson, Private Pike and a small squad of others they reached the hall early in the morning before most of the citizens were up. The guard presence in the hall would be strong. Curiosity in the city was running high since the word had got out about Greenleaf. May people would turn up simply to gawp at the Elf.

Welch marched his squad up to the front door and came to attention before the Blacktunic captain who stood there.

'Captain Welch,' he said brusquely, 'reporting for duty.'

The Blacktunic returned the salute before eyeing up the squad carefully.

'H'all loyal men to your Steward, I hope,' he said.

The squad nodded almost as one. Pike was the only one who did not but stared fixedly in front of himself out of sheer nervousness. His face grew paler as the Blacktunic suddenly focused his attention on him.

'Well, lad? H'are you a loyal servant to h'our great Steward?'

Pike trembled. 'Oh yes, sir, quite definitely, sir. I most certainly h'am, er, am, sir!'

The Blacktunic loomed. 'H'and h'what is your name, private?' he demanded.

'Don't tell 'im, Pike!' cut in Welch authoritatively before clapping a hand over his mouth when he realised what he had said.

'Pike, hmm?' The Blacktunic nodded his head. 'I will remember your name, Pike. Captain, get your men into position.'

He saluted smartly before marching away. Welch returned the salute in a slightly more lazy fashion and gestured for his squad to follow him. Soon they were all stationed around the hall. Aragorn and Welch had a spot with a full view of the proceedings and close to the box where Greenleaf would be standing.

'Now we wait,' said Welch. 'Your feet'll be killing you after a while, you know.'

'He'd do the same for me,' said Aragorn.

'I've no doubt.'

They watched as the preparations for the trial were completed and people began filing in. Several walked past Aragorn and Welch without a second glance.

'None of them notice us, do they?'

Welch shifted his feet. 'People look at us now and see only faceless men in armour. It's different when I'm out on the street 'cause everyone knows me but when it's something like this, well, it's easier not to look at the men in uniform. The wrong look can be so misinterpreted.'

'People are that scared?' Aragorn shook his head. 'That's terrible.'

'Sad but true.'

The hall soon filled up curious onlookers packed in tightly. More crowded outside unable to get inside but wanting to be there anyway. It was a huge event for the city, it seemed. The Gondorians had all come simply to be there and see what was happening or simply gawk at the Elf.

The chatter was silenced by the arrival of a herald who announced the entrance of the Steward. Denethor stalked in with all the cheer of a crow-picked battlefield. He took his seat with what he thought was majesty with a wide spread of his cloak before he sat. The effect was, however, a little spoiled by his permanently hunched posture. His eyes flicked out over the crowd as his fingers began to fidget in his furs. He cleared his throat unpleasantly.

'Bring out the accused,' he rasped.

A door at the side of the hall opened and all eyes turned to look. There was a collective gasp as a figure was pushed through it. Aragorn's fists bunched when he saw his friend.

Greenleaf was escorted across the hall by two Blacktunics who seemed to be supporting him rather than guiding him. He clearly favoured one leg as he stumbled along. Dirty chains crossed his body and held his arms down. Dried blood edged his nose and the side of his mouth while dark bruises marked his face.

'They've been hurting him,' muttered Aragorn tersely.

'More than you can see, I'm sure,' replied Welch. 'He looks exhausted.'

Denethor's eyes, narrowed and angry, also followed the Elf's progress. His lips twisted unpleasantly.

'The court is now in session,' he announced as soon as Greenleaf had been pushed into position. 'Captain Grant, you may begin the prosecution.'

The red-haired Blacktunic stepped forward with his hands held loosely behind his back. He instantly commanded the attention of the hall, holding it with something between fear and awe.

'Who is he?' whispered Aragorn.

'Captain Grant?' Welch's face darkened slightly. 'He was never a regular guard, only signed up when the Blacktunics were started. He's a nasty sort, very nasty. Vicious, brutal, you name it. There's something wrong in the head with him. Doesn't seem to understand why it's wrong to hurt people. He wouldn't see any difference between killing a rat and murdering a man 'cept he'd enjoy the man's screaming more.'

Aragorn shuddered. 'Poor Legolas.'

Grant strode over to stand before Greenleaf. Greenleaf stared coolly back at him, back straight and head up. They both held the eye contact for a few moments.

'You will state your name for the court.'

'Legolas Greenleaf.'

'And your place of birth.'

'Mirkwood.'

'And you are an Elf.'

'That much would be apparent, yes.'

Grant scowled momentarily. Greenleaf kept his expression neutral though inwardly he grinned a little. It wasn't like anything he said now would help him in any way anyway.

'And as an Elf you are forbidden to enter this city. How do you answer this?'

'I did not know this was the law until I was here. It isn't exactly common knowledge outside the city.'

'And yet you did not leave.'

'I didn't have chance.'

Grant turned and took a couple of steps away before looking back. 'Why are you here in this city?'

'I came on a holiday.' Greenleaf smiled crookedly. 'I heard that this city is a most beautiful place to visit.'

'You lie!'

Greenleaf gave Grant a half-amused look. 'You mean that this is not a beautiful place? I beg to differ, captain.'

'You know that wasn't what I meant, Elf,' spat Grant. 'Your reason for being here is a lie. Confess your true intentions!'

Greenleaf shifted his feet a little and shrugged. 'I have told you my reason. I cannot help it if you decide not to believe me.'

'You lie,' repeated Grant. 'Your intentions are far more sinister than any person here present could even dare to imagine.'

'You've done your best though,' interrupted Greenleaf.

Grant glared at him. 'You are here as part of a conspiracy to ruin this city,' he continued, 'an attempt to overthrow the noble leadership of this beloved city; a plot to murder the Steward of Gondor.' He uttered the title with as much majesty and reverence as if Denethor had been a real monarch.

There was a deadly hush in the hall after that particular statement.

'You have conspired to destroy the governmental apparatus of this city.' Grant stalked across the hall ensuring that the audience was following his every move. 'And you have conspired with others – and such others! – to invade this city.' He had to hold up a hand to quiet the sudden hubbub in the hall. 'To invade this city with the intention of either occupying or destroying it!' The noise of outrage and disbelief in the hall grew. 'And there is worse!

'This creature, this Elf,' he hissed the name, 'is in collaboration with none other than our greatest adversary: Sauron himself!'

Shock echoed around the hall.

'He's really going for the drama, isn't he?' said Aragorn.

'He's never going to get Legolas to confess,' mused Welch, 'so he's got to give them a story to make them believe he's guilty. Justice has to be seen to be done.'

'Look at Legolas. He hasn't got a hope of defence, has he?'

He hasn't got a defence at all. But it doesn't matter. We're getting him out.' Welch nodded. 'He's still going to try though.'

Greenleaf stood as straight as he could without the chains pressing too hard against bruised and cracked ribs. He looked across at Grant.

'I already told you why that is impossible,' he said calmly. 'Sauron is dead.'

'Lies, more lies!' called Grant. 'We can trust nothing this Elf says. I have seen the evidence of this with my own eyes. On his back he bears the mark of Saruman!'

'Make up your mind,' Greenleaf shot back. 'First you say I'm working for Sauron and next you say it's Saruman.'

'You try to twist the truth with technicalities. It cannot be denied that you serve powers that would see this city fall. Who knows how many co-conspirators you already have inside the city? We already know of one who will undoubtedly be recaptured any day along with any others as soon as their ringleader – this Elf – is … removed.'

Grant turned to Denethor, who sat regally in his chair.

'My lord Steward, you have listened as I have presented my prosecution. All I have spoken has been the truth. I now leave it to you, my lord, to pass your just sentence on this treacherous creature.' He bowed to Denethor then stepped back.

The Steward sat a little more upright in his chair. He examined Greenleaf for a long moment with narrow eyes. Greenleaf stared back coolly though inwardly he was worried. This was a situation he could not control and he hated situations like that. He was dependent on the hope that Aragorn could pull something off, which had not happened so far. His whole body hurt and the chains had him trapped.

'It is readily apparent to me,' said Denethor eventually, his voice sounding rather nasal, 'that an obvious crime has been committed and is still being committed: that of this Elf's presence in Minas Tirith. His other crimes are more subtle and require a little more deliberation. This trial can have no jury; this creature has no peers here.' He steepled his hands and gazed out at the hushed crowd. 'Do not be affected by his appearance; do not be fooled. These creatures are well-known for their wicked magics. It is some cursed glamour blinding your eyes. This fair face is nothing but a disguise for the diseased heart beneath.'

Aragorn, looking at Greenleaf, wondered how many people were taken in by Denethor's speech. Greenleaf did not particularly look like he was creating any glamour. He was defiant but also tired and hurt. No one could have looked less like an agent of dark forces plotting destruction.

'Consider the horrific conspiracies he has been scheming: destruction of this city, murder of myself, your Steward – thankfully such an attempt was forestalled by the splendid work of Captain Grant and his men. The Elf has all but confessed but holds his tongue by some devilry. The evidence against him is compelling.'

Denethor rose from his seat jerkily. 'I therefore pronounce the verdict on Legolas Greenleaf of guilty on all counts.'

Greenleaf clenched his fists. It was what he knew it would be, of course. He still bit his lip in frustration. The stupidity of men! Across the hall Welch laid a hand on Aragorn's arm as a warning to stay put. All eyes were on the Steward and the Elf.

Denethor cleared his throat in preparation for his final damning announcement.

'The sentence for these crimes is de…'

'My lord!' A guard burst through the door in a state of panic. 'My lord, we are under attack!'


	9. Wrath

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Chapter 9. Wrath

'My lord!' The guard, breathless and dishevelled, dropped to his knees before Denethor. 'The city is under attack! Orcs pound our gates!'

The effect of his words on the packed hall was instantaneous. Panic began to spread. People began to try and push their way out but with little success. Their raised voices added to the chaos.

Greenleaf's guards took his arms in tight grips. He ignored them, attention focused on the Steward. Denethor had settled back into his chair muttering to himself only just loud enough for Greenleaf to hear.

'Not now,' Denethor was whispering, 'not now.'

He was not paying any attention to the confusion that was erupting around him. Greenleaf could see Welch trying to calm the people around him. Eventually it was Boromir who strode forwards to stand on the raised dais in front of his father.

'SILENCE!' he yelled. It worked gradually. When there was relative quiet in the hall he continued. 'To panic now is counterproductive. Our main concerns are the defence of the city and your safety. You can aid us by keeping your heads and not hindering us. All men of fighting age and ability must report to their local guardhouse. Women, take your children and return to your houses unless you live in the outer two rings of the city. You will found a place of safety for the duration. Please leave here in a calm and orderly fashion and above all do not panic.'

Greenleaf was impressed by the sensibility of the plan. He could see that it was practical. He could, however, also see that the people were not quite following the 'calm and orderly' instruction. Pushing and shoving seemed to be the order of the day. Boromir sighed and turned away from the crowd. His eyes met those of the chained Elf. Greenleaf stared back expressionless.

'Get him out of here,' ordered the man.

The two guards complied, pulling Greenleaf by his arms. They took him out of the hall by the back way towards the great lawn atop Minas Tirith. They were still under the eaves of the hall when a great screech alerted them to the presence of an attacker. A huge winged beast passed overhead with slow wing-beats. Greenleaf, gazing up at it, recognised the figure riding on its back as a wraith. It was one of the nine embodiments of Sauron's wrath (Sauron being represented as a red eye and the 'i' going into 'wrath' to make 'wraith'), which Greenleaf had fought alongside Gimli after escaping the erupting volcano Orodruin. The wraiths had clearly escaped the devastation that had laid waste to much of Mordor.

The beast screeched again. Greenleaf flinched at the horrible sound but chained as he was could not cover his ears to block out the noise. His guards, however, could. They clapped their hands over their ears releasing Greenleaf's arms as they did. Ho took immediate advantage. A headbutt caught the one on the right full in the face while the left was tripped as Greenleaf's foot slammed into the side of his knee. Greenleaf thanked his lucky stars that the Blacktunics did not deign to wear the armour of the regular guards. He quickly reduced both men to unconscious heaps on the ground despite still being bound and felt more than a little smug about it. He looked up with some worry as two more guards came running out but relaxed when he saw that they were Welch and Aragorn.

'Eager to get into the fray then,' commented Aragorn, glancing at the downed Blacktunics.

'They were cramping my style,' replied Greenleaf.

'As are those chains, I've no doubt.' Welch produced a key and set to work on the locks. They were open in moments and he helped the Elf off with the chains. 'There you go.'

'Thank you.' Greenleaf stretched out his arms gratefully. He had barely moved them for a few days. 'That's much better.'

'You look a bit battered, Legolas,' said Aragorn, touching his friend's shoulder gently.

'The Blacktunics have an interesting idea of hospitality.' Greenleaf grinned, though it was less a smile than a showing of teeth. 'Promise me that when this is all over I get five minutes alone with Captain Grant.'

'He's all yours,' promised Aragorn. 'But first…'

Welch had pulled a bundle from its hiding place by the wall. He removed Greenleaf's bow, quiver and knife from it and handed them over. 'You know, this is quite probably a treasonable offence,' he remarked.

Greenleaf laughed. 'So's harbouring known foreigners, aiding and abetting a prisoner, no, two prisoners' escapes, plotting against the Steward…' His voice drifted off as he gave up on the list. He strapped on his quiver and knife. 'Excellent.'

Aragorn had been removing some of the more cumbersome armour he wore. Beneath the breastplate he had a tunic emblazoned with the white tree of Gondor. He took his sword from the bundle and strapped the belt round his waist.

'Very stylish,' Greenleaf told him with an amused quirk of his mouth.

'Very regal,' added Welch.

'Bethan did the tunic,' said Aragorn. 'Very quick lady with a needle, your wife.'

Any further conversation was halted as the Steward came hurrying out in a flurry of dark robes. Welch grabbed Greenleaf's arm but any pretence was unnecessary. Denethor went straight past without a glance. He ran out into the centre of the lawn shouting and waving a fist at the sky. The wraith and its mount had been circling the upper part of the city. Sensing the fresh prey it turned towards it eagerly. Greenleaf saw it coming and raised his bow.

Boromir came running out after his father. He took in the situation at a glance but with a tragic miscalculation. In two steps he had knocked the bow from Greenleaf's hands and leapt on him. His large frame bore the Elf to the ground and pinned him there. Greenleaf struggled to no avail. He looked up just in time to see the final fate of Denethor.

The beast's head snapped round as it flew above. The Steward's head was ripped clean off his shoulders. His body fell forwards with its arm still held high. It hit the grass with a thump. The beast's dark eyes looked directly at the little group by the wall as it passed.

'Let me up!' protested Greenleaf as soon as it had gone over. 'That thing'll be back any second!'

Boromir was unresponsive and was staring instead at his father's body, which was lying some distance away. Aragorn and Welch bent to lift the man off the Elf. Greenleaf scrambled to his feet fitting an arrow to his string and pulling it back as he did. He watched the sky waiting for what he knew was coming.

It came. The wraith had turned its mount to return to the plateau. Great sweeping wing beats propelled the beast in an arc swinging round for a clear run at them. Greenleaf stood calm and straight with both arms and bowstring taut. He closed his left eye – which was in any case still swollen mostly shut anyway – and concentrated on his target. Despite the noise around him he heard nothing but the wing-beats of his target as it drew ever closer. The wraith on its back was nothing more than a black sheet flapping in the wind for all the attention Greenleaf paid it. The beast opened its mouth to screech and Greenleaf let his arrow fly.

Almost dreamily he heard the bowstring pull notes from the air as it snapped forward. The arrow shot across the distance and hit its mark directly in the roof of the beast's mouth. There was a moment of perfect stillness at the impact just before the beast went mad.

It screamed and thrashed wildly. The wraith, clinging to its back, was tossed and thrown about. The beast rose higher and higher into the air away from the city only to finally plunge downwards in a decreasing spiral. It fell out of sight with a final despairing shriek.

'Where did it land?' asked Aragorn, coming forward.

'Outside the city walls, I think,' replied Greenleaf, 'and good riddance to it.'

'Aye, good riddance indeed.' Boromir walked forward to stand before Greenleaf. 'It appears that I owe you a debt of gratitude for this action and an apology for my decision earlier. It seems that the price has been paid already for that mistake.' He bowed his head.

'I am sorry for your loss,' said Greenleaf politely. 'It cannot be pleasant to lose a father.'

'We must not dwell on it now,' said Boromir. 'We must defend the city though it will be difficult, I fear. They, the people, are terrified. Terror does not defend a city. They need to be inspired.' He looked at Greenleaf. 'Your people are great warriors, I believe. Tell me, Master Elf, what do you know of these matters?'

Greenleaf shrugged. 'I am considered a criminal in this city. I hardly think that makes me an ideal candidate for inspiration.' Behind his back, where Boromir could not see, he made gestures at Aragorn. 'I am not the person you are looking for.'

'Then what shall I do?' Boromir appeared upset.

Aragorn reluctantly cleared his throat. 'What you've done so far couldn't have been done better. Evacuating the outer ring of the city is the safest thing possible for the citizens in question. What you need though is archers on the outer wall and a barricade on the main gate.'

Boromir gave him a surprised look. 'And who are you?'

Aragorn took a deep breath. 'I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn and heir to the throne of Gondor.'

More than a little dumbstruck, Boromir stared at him. 'And have you proof of this? It seems, to say the least, incredible.'

'I wear the ring of Barahir,' said Aragorn, displaying it, 'and I carry the sword Anduril reforged from the shards of Narsil; both are inheritances passed down from father to son.'

'My word!' exclaimed Boromir in a hushed tone. His face displayed conflict for a few moments before he appeared to mentally shake himself. 'We cannot argue lineage now. If you are who you claim to be then perhaps it is a stroke of luck for our city. But for now we are under attack!'

He strode over to the low wall that surrounded the lawn. From there the city and the plains were laid out below. Black streams of orcs clustered about the walls; their roars were audible even at the top of the city. The remaining wraiths circled above. Greenleaf, squinting up at them, noticed something else.

'It would appear that we have some help on the way,' he remarked, pointing upwards.

Starting as small dots high in the sky the shapes soon resolved themselves into huge birds that circled as they descended. Greenleaf grinned as his sharp eyes picked out the edge of each feather that caught the pale autumnal sunlight.

'The eagles,' he said by way of explanation to the others who could not yet make out the details.

'Oh, good,' said Boromir. 'Are they on our side?' His fingers fiddled nervously with the pommel of his sword.

'That looks like Gwaihir Wind-Lord coming down,' replied Greenleaf, shading his eyes with a long hand. 'He's on good terms with Mithrandir.'

'Is there anyone that wizard doesn't know?' asked Aragorn.

'Doesn't seem so.' Greenleaf smiled. 'All the better for us, though.'

'So, these eagles are a good thing?' questioned Boromir, feeling a little left behind.

'Probably.'

Greenleaf watched as Gwaihir dropped closer and closer. With a final majestic wing sweep the eagle landed on the lawn, his talons digging into the lawn. Greenleaf walked over to him, stopped and bowed politely.

'_Mae Govannen_, Wind-Lord. I hope we owe something good to the honour of this visit.'

'What ho, Elf-boy!' The eagle settled his wings on his back and tossed his head. 'The old chap contacted me and told me you'd got yourself into a spot of bother with the old dark forces. He thought you might be needing the help of my squadron. Seems he was right though I'm dashed if I know how.'

'Mithrandir has many spies, it seems,' said Greenleaf, 'with many eyes. I shall have to thank the old reprobate when I get back.'

'He'll be happy to hear you call him that,' commented Aragorn.

Gwaihir tilted his head and gazed at the others on the lawn with a beady eye. He examined them carefully like a major on parade.

'Who're these chaps then? Introduce your troops, son of Thranduil!'

Greenleaf pulled a face. 'Don't call me that. The gentleman in the guard uniform is Captain Welch, the man in the cloak who looks like he's not quite sure what's going on is Boromir, son of the late Steward, and this in the rather impressive tunic with the even more impressive sword at his side is Aragorn, son of Arathorn.' He smiled impishly. 'Yes, that one.'

There was a chilling screech from above, echoed by a much warmer one. A wraith on its mount was being pursued by an eagle in a twisting trail across the sky.

'As charming as all this chatter is,' said Boromir, 'we have a battle to fight? Or had we all forgotten that?'

'We need to organise the defence,' said Aragorn, 'to co-ordinate it. And, yes, we do need to do it now.'

'Can you deal with that yourself?' asked Greenleaf. At Aragorn's nod he turned to Gwaihir. 'I wouldn't mind joining you against the wraiths, if I may. I can be more use up there than down here, I think.'

Gwaihir clicked his beak in brief amusement. 'You just enjoy the buzz of flying. Climb on, chum. We'll give those blighters something to fear, eh?'

'Definitely.' Greenleaf pulled himself up onto the eagle's back easily and settled among the feathers. 'Give them a taste of arrow and claw.'

'Rather! Hold on, old chap.'

'Wait!' Aragorn ran over to grab Greenleaf's arm. 'Legolas, take care.'

Greenleaf favoured him with a grin. 'You too. I know you can do this.'

'Thanks.'

Aragorn leapt back as Gwaihir unfolded his wings. A few beats carried him up into the air. Greenleaf raised a hand in farewell as they went. Aragorn, Boromir and Welch headed down towards the fight. The Battle for Minas Tirith had begun!


	10. The Battle for Minas Tirith

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: almost done now! Thank you for all your reviews. It's gratifying to find that people are reading and enjoying this.

Chapter 10. The Battle for Minas Tirith

People looked up as Aragorn rode by. Curiosity mixed with a sprinkling of awe followed him like a wake and rumour carried his story ahead in waves. Boromir, Faramir and Welch all rode behind creating an impressive cohort as they galloped towards the outer circle of the city. The roar of orcs became louder the closer they got.

'We will need every able-bodied man in the city,' said Aragorn, 'armed with everything we have.'

'All the guards will be down at the walls already,' said Faramir, leaning forwards, 'and I can send runners for volunteers when we get there.'

'Don't say volunteers, brother,' cut in Boromir, 'we need everybody! If they are fit to fight then they must fight!'

'What of the Blacktunics?' asked Aragorn. 'Will they be fighting already?'

Faramir frowned. 'I do not know. They have seemed somewhat independent of late.'

'Somewhat independent?' scoffed Boromir. 'They are run entirely by Captain Grant.' He spat. 'And he only ever answered to our father.'

'The men themselves would, I think, take any orders you gave them,' Faramir told Aragorn, 'if Grant were to be out of the way; but how to achieve that I do not know. I expect he will be down at the wall enjoying the opportunity to shout at the people.'

'I'm sure something can be arranged,' said Aragorn, his hand curling into a fist. 'What about weapons? The guards will be armed but what of the rest?'

'All volunteers, conscripts, whatever can be taken to the city armoury,' said Welch. 'They will be armed there.'

'And the Blacktunics do, I believe, have their own armoury,' supplied Faramir. 'We can persuade them to open that to us.'

'You "believe" they have?' questioned Aragorn. 'I thought you were in charge of the City Guard?'

'I think it is fairly clear that the title was mainly nominal under my father,' responded Faramir tightly, 'I aim to rectify that given the chance.'

Aragorn smiled. 'Good man. How many archers do we have?'

'Not enough,' said Boromir, 'and fewer who can shoot straight.'

'All the ones we have we need on top of the wall,' commanded Aragorn, 'and making every arrow count.'

'I'll see to it,' said Welch. 'It's all become a bit disorganised what with the way things have been of late – begging your pardon, sirs – but I'll get 'em jumping to your orders!'

'Good.' Aragorn's face set in a determined expression. 'We'll not lose our city to orcs!'

GGG

Greenleaf let an exhilarated grin spread over his face as Gwaihir soared higher into the air. The eagle's wings beat slow and strong in time with some unfathomable rhythm of nature. The City of Minas Tirith was laid out below them in white stone and grey streets. The orcs were a black infestation at the gates.

Eagles whirled in the skies about them spinning a furious dance with the wraiths. It was an evenly-matched battle between the birds and beasts who sought to claim the sky as their own. The wraiths spurred their mounts with kicks while they wielded fearsome swords. More than one eagle had already had their feathers clipped.

'My boys are finding it dashed tricky to actually snuff these blighters,' Gwaihir called back to his passenger. 'They don't bally bleed!'

'I know.' Greenleaf's fingers touched the feathers at the back of the eagle's neck. 'I fought them before in Mordor. I thought we'd defeated them then but clearly not. They seem to have some way of pulling themselves together again. Gimli and I certainly chopped them last time.'

'Better think of something with a touch more staying power then. Let's really stick it to the dratted creatures!'

'I'm curious as to how they've survived this long,' said Greenleaf, 'being as they were essentially servants of Sauron's wrath and he's dead. Very dead.'

'Some sort of dark bloody sorcery, I would wager,' answered Gwaihir.

'Possibly. But whose?' Greenleaf looked down to the city. 'I hope Aragorn is doing his job.'

The eagle turned his head. 'If you're wobbly about the chap then why didn't you hang about down in the city?'

Greenleaf scowled momentarily but hid the expression in seconds. 'It is not my place to be there with them; that is Aragorn's job or, if you prefer, his destiny. It isn't about me. It is merely my task to,' he paused, 'facilitate it. This is his place, his city. I'm just passing through.'

'And what is your place, son of Thranduil?'

'What sort of question is that?' demanded Greenleaf.

'A pertinent one, by your smart little avoidance,' said Gwaihir.

'Curses on the intelligence of eagles, blasted bird brains,' muttered Greenleaf. 'My place is … wherever it needs to be. Does that satisfy your curiosity?'

'You mean wherever the lady bids you to go?' asked Gwaihir knowingly. There was no response. 'Legolas?'

The Elf was lost in thought, hunched over the eagle's neck. 'I think I know of a way we can try to defeat these wraiths,' he said suddenly. 'We'll need a few things from the city.'

'Capital! Tell me where.' Gwaihir angled his flight downwards to glide towards the white walls of Minas Tirith.

Outside the walls was the massed black of the army of orcs. They screamed their anger and roared their fury with their great ugly faces twisted in violence. Catapults and siege towers were rolled into position with rattlings and rumblings. At the great gates a huge battering ram was being brought into play with force.

'Reinforce the gate!' yelled Aragorn from his position on the gate tower. 'Use anything you can find!'

His order was relayed down. Both guards and civilians hurried to obey the command and shored up the gate that was being unmercifully pounded from outside. It shuddered fitfully.

Aragorn turned his attention to the rest of the defence. Archers lined the walls, firing command and doing fairly well at picking off frontline orcs. More guards and men waited behind them ready for when the tall siege towers reached the city walls. Swords glinted in the sunlight.

There was a brief commotion as a man pushed his way through the soldiers towards Aragorn. Even without the black tunic Aragorn would have recognised him immediately. Anger rose inside him.

'What is going on here?' demanded Captain Grant. 'Who is this upstart?'

Aragorn drew himself up. 'I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn,' he told him calmly.

'He is the rightful ruler of this city!' added Faramir, who had been behind Aragorn.

'Apparently,' tempered Boromir. 'But he is defending this city a damn sight better than any of us could have managed!'

'Your father's death has you both muddled in the head,' Grant told them. 'We cannot simply trust this man like this. Why, he is the very man that Elf sprang from the cells a few nights ago!'

'The same Elf who is even now risking his own life for this city,' put in Aragorn.

'No doubt for his own nefarious purposes.' Grant turned to Boromir. 'I demand that you give me command of this situation. In times of war the city needs to be placed under military command. This city needs martial law!'

Aragorn stepped in front of Grant. 'Martial law is simply the rule of the fist, isn't it?' He raised his hand.

It was a good punch. Grant fell back to land fully unconscious on the ground. Several people nearby covered their mouths with their hands to hide their glee.

Boromir just managed to control a smirk. 'Take him away,' he ordered, 'and lock him up.'

Two men were seeing to that when the first siege tower dropped a gangplank onto the wall and orcs swarmed over. Aragorn drew Anduril and rushed into the fray.

More siege towers rolled towards the city walls; great ugly structures they were, designed to facilitate killing. Orcs hung off every beam while others cursed in their own tongue as the pushed it onwards. Two more towers reached the walls and spilled out cargos of orcs to meet the blades of the defending men.

Further back on the battlefield catapults were being manoeuvred into position. Huge rocks twice the height of any orc had been pulled on carts all the way from the mountains. They were being rolled onto the catapults. Orcs hauled on the winches, winding the weapons up tight.

High above the besieged city eagles and wraiths engaged in vicious combat. Greenleaf bent low over Gwaihir's neck wrapping oil-soaked rags round his arrows. Gwaihir kept back from the fight for now, watching as his kin fought with beak and claw against sword. Occasionally a wraith would break free of the battle and steer its mount towards the defenders on the wall top, scattering the men and sending a luckless few plummeting to their deaths. Greenleaf gritted his teeth as he watched Aragorn dive out of one's path.

'The orcs are not as organised as we feared,' he said, turning his gaze to the wider field of battle. 'That may help us eventually.'

'Wouldn't have them under my command, hah!' the eagle replied. 'You ready yet? That pesky wraith over there is taking an interest in us.'

'Almost.' Greenleaf tied off an end of string. 'Take a look at that catapult down there.'

Gwaihir let out a caw of laughter as a rock was launched through the air only to demolish one of the orcs' own siegetowers. Greenleaf meanwhile placed one of his prepared arrows onto his bow.

'Bogey approaching,' warned Gwaihir.

'Let it come,' said Greenleaf grimly, 'I'm ready.'

He struck up sparks from the flints in his left hand and caught them on the rag-wrapped arrowhead, which went up on flame. Gripping the eagle's back with his knees he drew back his bow, arm muscles tense and taut. He stared at the advancing wraith through the heat haze that shimmered above the flames. It raised its sword menacingly and Greenleaf let fly his arrow. The black robes caught fire quickly, wrapping the suddenly-shrieking wraith in fire. Its mount, at once confused and terrified by the flames, plummeted downwards.

'We can't let it crash on the city!' Greenleaf yelled.

'Grab on tight then! Tally-hoooooo!'

Gwaihir's wings drew back and he dived towards the falling fireball. Greenleaf clutched at the eagle's neck feathers with one hand and his bow with the other pressing himself almost flat against the feathered back. Gwaihir brought his claws up just as he reached the flailing wraith and seized its flying creature by the tail. He spread his wings to pull out of his dive and dragged both wraith and mount after him. Three strong wingbeats took them away from the city and a siegetower made a useful target to deposit the flaming mass on.

Greenleaf grinned widely. 'Can we do that again?' he asked, sitting upright again with a gleam in his eye.

Gwaihir chuckled. 'Perhaps after this battle, eh? Looks like this little scrap could be over quicker'n you think though.'

Greenleaf peered down and his grin widened. 'Ah, it's always nice to see old friends.'

GGG

The orcs from the siegetower nearest Aragorn had been driven back for the moment and he leaned against the wall to regain his breath. Black orc blood dripped from his sword onto the already-stained wall top. Boromir leant beside him.

'You fight well,' he said, but was interrupted before he could say more.

A man came running down from one of the gate towers in a state of excitement.

'My lord,' he said to Aragorn, who noted the honorific with a certain amount of interest, 'we have allies! Riders have joined our fight!'

'Riders?' asked Boromir. 'From where?'

'Rohan by their flags. They have come in great numbers.'

'Good,' said Aragorn. 'Keep me informed.' As the man hurried off Aragorn turned to Boromir. 'King Théoden must have sent them. He is a good man.'

'You're acquainted with the Rohirrim?' A curious expression crossed Boromir's face. 'Alliance with Rohan has been sorely missed. Gondor has become cut off in recent times. Are you also on good terms with the Elves?'

'I should say so.' Aragorn gave an oblique smile. 'Particularly those of Lorien and Rivendell. Dwarves aren't that bad either.'

Boromir laughed briefly. 'Then maybe with such help I can hope for Gondor again.'

'Just as soon as we win this battle,' said Aragorn, standing and looking out over the battlefield. 'The Riders seem to be turning the tide.'

Boromir joined him by the wall. 'Your Elf and the eagles seem to be dealing with those flying abominations too,' he said as another wraith fell in flame.

GGG

Greenleaf whooped as his third target fell. Gwaihir cawed in agreement, soaring upwards already in pursuit of a fourth. They were getting the hang of it; confident that the fire would deal with the creatures and deal with them well. Greenleaf nocked his arrow and waited until they were close enough. Two more wingbeats later and they were well within range. Greenleaf let his flaming missile fly.

Their fourth victim fell in a tangle of flame and beast. Unfortunately for Elf and eagle, the fifth was directly behind them.

The wraith's mount beat its wings against Gwaihir's, throwing the unsuspecting eagle off his stroke and sending him into freefall for a few moments. Greenleaf hung on grimly while his stomach seemed to have been left behind somewhere.

'Sneaky blighters!' screeched Gwaihir.

The eagle managed to right himself in seconds but the wraith was on them again. Greenleaf only just managed to duck out of the way of the great sword that swung down at his head. The trailing claws of its mount were not so easily avoided. Greenleaf was wrenched from Gwaihir's back and carried off into the sky.

He twisted in the beast's grip as it flew in the direction of the battlefield. Gwaihir was left behind being attacked by two other wraiths. Greenleaf growled in frustration and drew his knife. He slashed at the beast's feet. It screamed in pain and released him but before he could fall to certain death he grabbed hold of its leg and remained there dangling. Before it could grab him again he began pulling himself up.

The wraith's sword came down again close to Greenleaf's head. With a tight, concentrated look on his face he continued upwards. He met the wraith's next attack with a parry from his knife. The wraith hissed as they pushed against each other.

'_Elffff…_'

'Yes, well done,' agreed Greenleaf, thrusting its sword away and swinging himself up behind the wraith.

It tried to bring its sword round at him but the angle was too awkward. The long blade slid instead across the beast's shoulder and incapacitated its wing. With a sickening scream it began to plummet downwards. Greenleaf threw a glance back but Gwaihir was too far away and still fighting. He looked down, assessing the situation. Maybe they were not as high up as he had feared but whatever hit that ground would still be history.

It was just as well that the beast, bigger and heavier than its passengers, hit the ground first. It was killed instantly. Greenleaf was thrown off by the impact and tumbled across the grassy ground with a series of painful thumps that jarred already painful bruises. He was on his feet in seconds but so was the wraith.

It moved towards him fast but Greenleaf had the ease of centuries of practice. He had his knife sheathed and an arrow nocked even faster. A flicker of sparks from the flints in his hand set the arrowhead up in flames. Time seemed to slow for a few moments as he drew back the string. The wraith screeched as it ran for him in a swirl of black robes but it was met by Greenleaf's flaming arrow coming the other way. The resulting fireball scattered several orcs though not as many as Greenleaf would have liked. He took a look around at the battlefield he had landed on and drew his long knife again.

He was some way back from the city walls and not particularly close to the riders either. Orcs were fleeing all around him though none seemed averse to the idea of slaughtering an Elf on their way. Greenleaf was soon in the middle of a clashing melee of blades as orc after orc went for him.

Several lay dead at his feet by the time he saw something white hurrying through the crowded battlefield. The sight so surprised him that he only barely blocked an orc's scimitar from slicing off his head. He turned and slew the orc with a savage thrust before running after the white figure.

'Saruman!' he shouted. 'Come back and face me, you coward! Saruman!'

The wizard never turned and Greenleaf lost sight of him as several orcs suddenly converged on him. He slew them all brutally; his mind a haze of red, but it was too late. Saruman had vanished.

Gwaihir landed on the battlefield with a great sweep of his wings that sent orcs to the ground in all directions.

'Quickly!' Greenleaf yelled. 'Saruman was here! Did you see him?'

The eagle shook his head. 'Haven't seen a bally thing save orcs. Hop on, Legolas, we'll do a reccy now.'

Any orcs who had tried advancing in the meantime were thrown back again as Gwaihir took off. He drifted over the battlefield but neither his nor Greenleaf's eyes could find Saruman among the panicking mess of orcs.

'Gone to ground, damn him,' growled Greenleaf. 'Does that wizard not know how to die?'

'Wouldn't seem so,' said Gwaihir, 'but the bugger'll turn up again, mark my words, like a bad penny. We've got wraiths to shoot down now. Chin up, son of Thranduil! This battle is good as won!'


	11. A Royal Return

Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

The City of the King

Disclaimer: Legolas, Aragorn and all recognisable characters belong to the estate of Tolkien (the lucky, lucky bastards). James Bond was created and written by the very suave Ian Fleming.

Author's Notes: Last chapter! Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. I've appreciated every word.

Chapter 11. A Royal Return

The orcs had been routed and victory secured. The people of Minas Tirith were buoyant, spreading out into the streets to celebrate. Most congregated around the gates, which although battered fiercely had held with only some stonework damage. Catapults had also marred the walls, though no significant structural damage had been inflicted. Repairs would see to these in no time and once the grass had grown back outside the walls there would be no sign that the battle had ever taken place. Some wives would sleep alone in their beds tonight and some children would never be held in their father's arms again but fewer than it could have been. The city would provide for those left behind.

Aragorn stood on the battlements and watched Éomer and his riders head towards the city. The barricades had already been removed and the gates were being opened with loud protests from their overstressed hinges. Aragorn made a mental note to get those repaired as soon as possible. Perhaps, he mused as he eyed the loosened stonework, he could persuade some Dwarves to come to the city. Some people might complain about outsourcing labour from the city but it would serve to strengthen ties between Minas Tirith and Dwarven communities.

Stray thoughts dashed across Aragorn's mind, wondering just when he had started thinking like this; like a leader, in fact.

The train of thought was dispelled as the riders came through the gates. He hurried down to the steps to greet them.

'Éomer!' he called. 'I am so glad to see you.' He grinned. 'And grateful, of course.'

'You can thank the old wizard,' said Éomer, reaching over to grasp Aragorn's hand. 'He's been keeping an eye on things.'

All around them the riders of Rohan were being thanked by the people of Minas Tirith. The chatter was interrupted by the ringing of the gatehouse bell. Everyone watched as Boromir stepped out onto the battlements.

'Citizens of Minas Tirith!' he announced. The attention of the entire crowd was immediately his. 'We have won the day and that is cause for rejoicing,' he continued, 'but not without cost. Brave men died to protect this city and they will be honoured. My father also – the Steward of this city – was killed by those fell beasts.'

A murmur ran through the crowd. Several of the men present doffed their helmets in respect. Aragorn wanted to protest placing the power-crazed Denethor in with those who had died in battle but a look at Boromir and Faramir quelled that thought. He had been their father after all.

'Times have been dark in Minas Tirith,' Boromir went on, 'we all know that. But it seems that that is now behind us.' He walked down the steps to stand beside Aragorn. 'You have seen how this man organised our defence and fought beside us all to secure the safety of the city. Fellow citizens, legends have risen today! Great eagles flew into battle on our behalf. Orcs were sent fleeing with the hoofbeats of the riders of Rohan in their ears. And this man who stands beside me now is no ordinary man. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, descendant of Kings and the rightful monarch of this city.'

To Aragorn's surprise Boromir dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

'My liege,' he said, 'it will be the greatest honour and privilege to serve you.'

Before Aragorn could respond Faramir stepped forward from the crowd and knelt as well. After that it was only a matter of time before every man was kneeling to pay their allegiance to their new king. Aragorn gazed out over them, smiling briefly on seeing the one figure still standing.

Greenleaf, who would bow to no man, stood half-hidden in the shadow of a building. On seeing Aragorn's look he smiled too and inclined his head a little.

GGG

After that there was a lot to do. The coronation was set for a week later and there was much to do before then. Aragorn immediately lifted the curfew and the celebrations continued long into the night. Along with Boromir and Faramir, Aragorn worked on removing the restrictions placed on the citizens by Denethor. The Blacktunics were given over to Captain Welch's tender care, either to make proper guards of them or to imprison them for their crimes.

The dungeons under the city were also opened. Aragorn personally assisted with the long task of releasing each prisoner, finding out their names and seeing that they received proper care. Welch was there when Private Godfrey was let out and lent a hand to the hobbling man as he was led out into the sunlight. A frighteningly high number of people were released though it seemed that more were still missing. They were most likely dead.

Thanks to a quick palantír call to U, who really did know everyone, a group of Dwarves arrived a few days after the battle. They started work on the gates straightaway alongside the masons of the city. Greenleaf had a cheerful reunion with Gimli who insisted on hearing the entire tale over a mug or five of ale. His expression had grown very dark on hearing of the time the Elf had spent in the Blacktunics' cells. The two of them then spent a certain amount of time in a room with ex-Captain Grant – rather longer than the initial five minutes Greenleaf had asked for – and had come out looking much happier.

Aragorn's most pleasant surprise came the day before the coronation. He was standing with Greenleaf and Gimli looking out of the city when a rider approached who they all recognised.

'Arwen!' Aragorn exclaimed, running forwards as she came up the steps. They embraced closely, kissing in an almost indecent hurry. When the embrace threatened to last for rather too long Greenleaf and Gimli turned away.

'We really should go,' muttered Gimli.

'But propriety bids us stay,' said Greenleaf with a mischievous mock-pomposity. 'They are not yet wed.'

'Oh, what to do?' asked Gimli, picking up on the fun. 'Such a quandary.'

'I know!' said Greenleaf. 'Let's talk about the weather.'

'Yes, yes,' agreed Gimli, nodding happily, 'let's talk about the weather.'

Aragorn and Arwen paid them no attention, being too engrossed in each other. Aragorn's arms clasped tightly around Arwen and held her very close.

'I was worried about you, my love,' she whispered.

'How beautifully blue the sky is,' remarked Greenleaf. 'The sun has risen very high.'

'I hope it may continue fine,' said Gimli, leaning on his axe.

'I missed you too, my darling,' murmured Aragorn.

'Yet it rained but yesterday,' said Greenleaf (which was true; there had been a short, almost inconsequential shower).

'I've been following what's going on as much as was possible,' said Arwen, gently brushing Aragorn's hair away from his face.

'Tomorrow it may pour again,' commented Gimli.

'I hear the country wants some rain,' added Greenleaf.

'I am so much happier at seeing you again, my love,' said Aragorn, stealing another kiss.

'But people say, I don't know why, that we will have a warm July,' continued Gimli.

'A warm July?' echoed Greenleaf disbelievingly.

Aragorn had had enough. He turned to glare at the pair. Greenleaf and Gimli stood side-by-side gazing innocently up at the sky, which was indeed beautifully blue.

'Have you quite finished?' asked Aragorn.

'We were only having a civilised discussion,' said Greenleaf.

'On the current state of affairs, meteorologically speaking,' added Gimli.

'Oh, you're just feeling left out, aren't you?' said Arwen.

She walked over to Greenleaf, took his face in both hands and kissed him for a long moment. When she pulled away she was smiling.

Greenleaf grinned. 'You know, Aragorn,' he said, 'I may come and visit more often.'

'Don't think you're getting any more,' warned Arwen, tapping him on the nose, 'that was just while I'm still a free woman.'

'Hmph. Where's mine then?' complained Gimli. He got a pat on the head for his trouble.

'Just to let you know what you're missing out on,' continued Arwen, still looking at Greenleaf. 'You're too late now, Legolas.'

'Nonsense.' Greenleaf laughed. 'You two were made for each other. There's no need to worry about me, dear. No need at all.'

GGG

It was after the coronation that Aragorn sought out Greenleaf, who was standing outside on a balcony. The celebration went on inside and nobody saw the King slip out. Greenleaf stood out in the moonlight and shone with the starlight. Aragorn paused a moment to look. It was rare that he ever saw the Elf like this: quiet, still and peaceful. Whenever Aragorn was with him they were usually on a mission and Greenleaf always had an intense, concentrated look then. Now, Greenleaf had an unfocused gaze and his eyes were glittering. Aragorn watched as the lightest breeze lifted strands of the Elf's hair one by one; each glinted a silvery-gold.

'Are you planning on standing there all night?'

The question came from Greenleaf without him even turning his head. Aragorn smiled and joined him on the balcony.

'I was considering it.'

'What, with all your adoring public waiting inside?'

'I'm sure they've had enough of me by now.' Aragorn grimaced. 'And I've had enough of some of them. Dignitaries and wealthy folk from all over Middle-earth. Even your dear Elliane.'

Greenleaf shuddered. 'Don't remind me. I got pounced on as soon as she arrived. Give me wraiths, give me orcs, give me crazed captains but keep that … that woman away from me!'

Aragorn laughed aloud. 'Ah, I'm sure she just wants to be friends.'

'I don't think so.'

Greenleaf pushed himself up to sit on the stone balcony rail, facing Aragorn. His hand came up to rub absentmindedly at a fading bruise on his jaw. Its purple was just beginning to turn yellow at the edges.

'How're you feeling?' asked Aragorn. 'Still sore?'

'A bit. Nothing worse than I've had before and nothing that'll scar. I have other sadistic bastards to thank for that sort of thing.'

'And other than physically?'

'I'm sure I don't know what you mean.'

Greenleaf was, of course, lying. Grant's cold eyes would keep him awake for more than a few nights to come but no one needed to know that. That was his private business and nobody else's. Not even G's. His demons were his own and he guarded them selfishly.

A screech sounded and a giant pair of wings fanned the pair. Gwaihir, who had stayed for the coronation, sailed over them calling his farewell. They called their goodbyes back to him and waved as he passed the city wall. He was quickly lost to distance. Greenleaf watched him for longer than Aragorn, turning away only when the giant eagle was a dot even to his eyes.

'He promised to drop by occasionally to see how the city is,' said Aragorn. 'It's very kind of him.'

'Is everybody being so supportive?'

'Oh, yes. Boromir is taking over the post of Steward though now, of course, he'll be assisting me in running the city rather than doing it himself. I think he prefers that but he'd never say it. Faramir I'm making Commander-in-Chief of the army and the guards. It's similar to what he did under his father but with much more freedom, of course. And for Commander of the guards, though he doesn't know it yet, Welch.'

Greenleaf smiled. 'Oh, he will be pleased. "More paperwork," he'll grumble but Bethan'll be thrilled. And he'll love it really.'

'That's what I thought.' Aragorn looked pleased. 'I might as well make people happy.'

'I knew there would be a reason that would finally make you come round to accepting this. Now I discover it's philanthropy.'

Mock-scowling, Aragorn moved over to cuff Greenleaf playfully round the head but changed his mind halfway and pulled him into a hug instead. The Elf tensed a little – Aragorn hoped it was only that he had accidentally pressed some of Greenleaf's remaining bruises – before loosely and carefully returning it.

'Thank you,' muttered Aragorn into Greenleaf's shoulder. 'Really, thank you.'

'Just doing my job, man.'

'Far more than that, _Elf_. I think you did more than beyond the call of duty.'

'G would have had my guts for garters if this hadn't come off and you know it.' Greenleaf threw his arms up. 'Ah, to have a part of me adorning those fair legs!'

Aragorn snorted. 'Would your guts go with her legs? I'm not sure the colour would quite match.'

Greenleaf tossed his head. 'I'll have you know, man, that Elf-guts go with anything!'

'I'll have to remember to tell Arwen that when she's redecorating the citadel. And I'll tell her you volunteered yours especially.'

Their laughter, cheery and natural, subsided gently. Aragorn caught Greenleaf's hand between his and clasped it tightly.

'It is sad to say goodbye,' he said quietly.

'To the Service?' said Greenleaf deliberately. 'I am sure that you will find challenges a-plenty in running a kingdom. And G will simply have to find some other man to use as troll bait.'

'Boromir expressed some interest in the Service but I will need him here, at least initially.' Aragorn gave Greenleaf a look. 'And I didn't mean that. I meant … oh, come and visit, won't you?'

'If I have time.' Greenleaf shrugged. 'It depends on what I am doing.'

'What are you planning?' Aragorn paused, recognising the glint in his friend's eyes. 'Wait, let me guess. Saruman?'

Greenleaf nodded. 'He needs to be stopped. I should have killed him a long time ago.'

'You certainly tried hard enough.'

'Then I shall have to try harder.'

Aragorn sighed. 'And what if G does not agree to this?'

'Then she shall have to come and fetch me herself.' Greenleaf's eyes were dangerous and held no sign of his earlier peacefulness. 'I will be the one to find him.'

'And kill him?'

'Of course. With her orders or without them.'

Aragorn regarded him, noting the set jaw and tense lips. Greenleaf had clearly decided his course and nothing would sway him from his determined path.

'Well, be careful.'

Laughter followed that. 'Aren't I always?'

No answer was forthcoming in that growing darkness. Moonlight and starlight competed with the growing number of celebratory torches that were being lit. Night fell over the city of the King but with the promise of a bright new tomorrow.

The End.

GGG

Endnote: So, is that it for Greenleaf? Will he ever get that tricky wizard for good? I'm afraid the short answer is: I don't know. I have notes for a sequel. I even have a plot. It all depends a bit on real life concerns though. Don't write off the idea completely. In fact, feel free to give me a poke if I leave it far too long. After all, that's how this story finally got put up.

Meanwhile, _Ringfinger_, the first tale in the series is being re-edited (why did I think I needed all those commas?) and spiffed up to make its debut on livejournal (link to my lj is on my profile). There will also be cover art and chapter header art to make it even better.

Thank you all for reading! Hopefully I'll see you again at some point.


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